


Telling Secrets

by Spot_On60



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7019947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spot_On60/pseuds/Spot_On60
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things have gone terribly wrong while the team tracks a diamond smuggler.</p><p>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings means read at your own risk.</p><p>Story, in part, deals with aftermath of an assault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**I choose not use archive warnings. Read at your own peril.**

 

BA had gone to the basement, Hannibal was on the first floor and Murdock was climbing the stairs to the second. As his head came level with the upstairs floorboards the pilot was hit with the temperature change and the stench. He hesitated on the step as he fought back a gag. Continuing up and through the doorway he found himself in an overheated hall.

Four or five doors on either side lined the passage. It was warm up there. Closed windows, baking in the sun kind of stuffiness. And the smell. Weapon at the ready he looked around the first doorway. It had been a bedroom, now vacant. The closet door stood open and empty. Across the hall was another bedroom this held a mattress and box spring placed haphazardly on the floor with blankets and sheets strewn. In the corner sat an old overstuffed upholstered chair looking pathetic. Any happiness lived out in the room lost to the years.

The next door after careful rumination, listening and testing the knob, turned out to be a linen closet housing nothing but dusty and empty shelves. He had a clear view of the bathroom as he passed by. Missing and loose tiles competed with stained porcelain to give the room a dilapidated appearance. The horrible odor took on a shape in here. It seemed to radiate off of the tiles. Murdock didn't step inside, he saw all he needed from the doorway. Across the hall again was a closed door. As with the closed closet door Murdock listened.

This time he heard movement, faint, but movement none the less. Stepping to the side of the frame he tried the door knob. Though it turned readily the old skeleton key style lock was engaged. He heard a voice inside, though it sounded muffled.

Talking through the door, "That you in there, Facey?"

The response was softer than before. He couldn't tell if it was Face or not. Sounded gagged. Speaking of gagged, he was hit with the reflex again.

"Don't worry Facey, I'm armed." _That might move any undesirables out of the way_ he thought.

He moved in front of the door and kicked it hard, just above the knob. The wooden jam cracked, but didn't give way. Murdock had moved to the wall beside the door once again, but there was no response, no one opened fire from the other side. He again stood before the entryway. With another kick the wood splintered and the door flew open. It hit something on the other side and was bouncing back closed again.

Murdock had dropped low and ducked to the side. There was nothing, no return, no counter. As he leaned to look around the corner he was hit with the stench full on. The room itself faced West and seemed to be holding heat with the door closed. This time he couldn't control himself. He dry heaved off to the side.

Still crouched with his hand over his nose and mouth he looked in. There was a bed set up with an old iron frame. He saw a bare foot at the end. Standing he eased himself around to see a naked body tied face down, spread eagle to the bed. It was the Lieutenant.

Murdock ducked down again to look under the bed. "You alone in there, Facey?" He heard the muffled voice again. Standing to look at the man on the bed, he wanted to heave again, but did all he could to stop the reaction. He looked around the half open door to see a dresser and beyond it an open closet door. He went to the closet to convince himself no one hid within. Satisfied, he turned to the bed.

The odor was overwhelming as Murdock took in the scene in front of him. It was Face alright, tied with belts and ropes to the frame. His back and legs were covered in red stripes and multicolored bruises. Dried blood punctuated some of the stripes and also appeared as handprints on his back, thighs and around his hip. In his mouth was a ball gag.

As Murdock approached he saw feces and blood clotted between his legs. Moving to the bedside opposite the door he laid his hand on Face's lower back, in a rare spot without the angry bruising. "It's okay now, Facey. We're here." He set his weapon on the bed by Face's head and set to work unbuckling the gag.

There was a gash on the back of his head. Blood had mingled on the sheet with a mess of vomit. Dried blood shattered as he worked the buckle and strap. Dropping the gag along the side of the bed he could see Face had vomited with the gag in his mouth. Murdock wanted to cry.

He petted the side of Face's head, "Hang on, Buddy. I'll get you untied," and fought off another wave of nausea.

Murdock could hear Face trying to speak. Rasping.

"Shhhh...Don't try to talk." He was now unbuckling the belt holding his hand to the frame. Upon release the hand dropped to the bed. Face yelped. "Oh Facey. I'm sorry. Was it your shoulder?" He was answered with a nod. Murdock gently massaged along Face's shoulder blade.

Taking his firearm he moved to the next tie. He noted a yellowish stain on the sheet beneath Face's stomach. This bond was a rope tied to his ankle. He took his knife and cut the cord. The flesh around the ankle was red and raw. The other ankle was held with another belt and came free easily.

The final hand was swollen and Face whimpered when Murdock needed to briefly tighten the belt to release the prong. He held the belt with one hand and Face's hand with his other. He carefully released the belt guiding the hand down. He lightly manipulated the wrist and hand to try and restore some circulation.

"Mu' d'ck," Temp whispered dry and hoarse.

Murdock touched the side of his face.

"Doan le' J'hn see me lie thiz," spoken in a weak breath.

"Oh Facey..." But before he could respond further he heard movement behind him. He spun seeing Hannibal inside the doorway and BA just outside.

Going to the boss, Murdock was blocking all but Face's legs from Hannibal's view. Trying to stay directly between, Murdock took the older man by the biceps, "He doesn't want you to see him like this, Boss."

Hannibal raised his forearms clasping Murdock's and moved him aside. The pilot knew he couldn't stop him from going to Face. At the bedside Hannibal kneeled to eye level, resting a hand on the younger man's arm, above the swollen hand and wrist. Temp closed his eyes.

"Hey BA, I didn't finish checking up here, down to the end of the hall," Murdock said lowly. "And the stairs look like they'll go up to the attic."

BA was tight. One hand was close to crushing the butt of his handgun like a soda can and the other was fisted, ready for an unsuspecting wall. A man of few words who didn't often need them, he wore his heart on his sleeve. He was thankful to Murdock for giving him a reason not to continue looking over the wreckage of a man he considered his little bro.

Hannibal had taken a pillow off the floor and stripped it of its case. "See if you can get this wet Captain." Soon the colonel heard pipes banging in the walls. While he waited he told Temp, "I'm going to open a window." Neither of the bastards would release. He was about to break out the glass as Murdock returned with the wet case.

"No, Boss. You'll cut yourself." He handed the case to Hannibal and pounded around the casement. With one strong heave the window slid open. "Grew up with sticky windows in Texas." It was a particularly warm day. The air was stagnant and did little to relieve the heat or fetid smell.

John was able to start a hole in the wet case then tear it in half. Taking one of the halves he began wiping between Temp's legs, attempting to clear away the offal. He was focused on his work, trying to distance this savagely abused man from the man he loved and shared his life with. He had to absence John the partner and replace him with Hannibal the CO; otherwise, he couldn't have managed the sight nor the odor.

Murdock searched for another pillow, but instead found Face's clothes thrown to the side. He took the T-shirt and was prepared to rip into it when he saw it already was in shreds. His eyes welled as he realized the garment had most likely been torn from Face's body. He wanted to take a deep breath to clear his head, but the sickening fetor prevented it. He closed his eyes to concentrate on holding himself together.

Taking the tatters of the T-shirt he returned to the bathroom to drench it. BA was coming back down the passage as he crossed.

"All clear," he informed.

Back by the Colonel's side Murdock silently turned over the dampened cloth. From behind he heard BA.

"What do want me to do, Boss?" fully expecting to be asked to carry their Lieutenant out.

"Stand guard downstairs, BA." Responding immediately, BA was out the door.

"What about me, Colonel?" Murdock had his hands clasped together at his chest. A familiar sign of stress in the man.

"See if you can find me a sheet or blanket to wrap him in."

He could hear the pilot hurry down the hallway. Still carefully cleaning the mess from Face he stopped dead when he realized what he thought had been blood was not. He had been wiping at horribly swollen and irritated tissue. He put down the wet cloth only to see the gag there on the bed. Dropping his head he rested his hand on Temp's lower back. Sucking both lips between his teeth he fought back the tears.

Murdock returned with both requested items. Hannibal took the blanket first to lay beside Temp, between him in the center and the edge of the bed. "Give me that," he said not unkindly. Covering the blanket with the sheet in the same manner. He leaned down to kiss Face's temple, "Going to roll you, Babe."

He looked to Murdock in an unspoken request. Murdock carefully rolled the man to his side from the opposite side of the bed. Hannibal held his head to keep it from coming in contact with the puddle of vomit.

Once on his side, Hannibal took over rolling Temp toward him and onto the sheet. Murdock had come around the bed and the two of them both saw the damage at the same time. Face's eye was terribly swollen and close to shut. To avoid the mess on the bed he had been laying on it, causing it to fill and distend. Bruising was working its way around his sides from the back. There was one large bruise across his ribs and what looked like bite marks on his shoulders. His lower abdomen, penis and scrotum were red and raw from urine burns. They both winced and were thankful Temp's eyes were closed so as not to see their reactions.

"Go tell BA to pull the SUV as close to the door as he can get it."

"Yes sir." And he was gone.

John swaddled Temp in the sheet, carefully tucking the edges under him, then wrapped him in the blanket. Normally he would call in BA to help with lifting, but it was important to him that he be the one to carry Temp out of this nightmare.

"I'm taking you out of here," trying to avoid looking at the dried blood and bits of muck ground into his hair. Instead looking into his beautiful boy's eyes, one swollen almost shut, the other blank and staring.


	2. Chapter 2

Ira Cross gave the distinct impression he was a man of conviction, an old fashioned honorable man. It seemed the business of diamonds attracted honorable men. It also attracted the opposite end of the spectrum. There appeared to be dearth in the area between.

Well liked and well respected, Ira was conscientious and trustworthy. He had weathered the ups and downs in this particular sphere of the world of gemstones, from economic recessions to fashion trends. Although business could sometimes be sparse he rode the waves. Of course he didn't deal exclusively in diamonds. Any lapidary worth his weight knew to diversify in the area of precious gems. Besides diamonds, Ira was also an inscrutable dealer of alexandrite, one of the rarest of the precious stones.

There was, however, an exclusivity in regards to diamonds Ira now tried to live by. He did everything in his power to deal in Canadian diamonds alone, yes, Canadian. Canadian mines came into being starting in 1991 when two geologists, Chuck Fipke and Stewart Blusson, found evidence of diamond-bearing kimberlite pipes. Mining began in earnest in 1998.

Not only do Canadian diamonds compare favorably with the finest African stones, the Canadian enterprise quickly became an unrivaled industry leader in ethical and environmentally sound mining practices. The Canadian certification process enables purchasers to track their diamonds from the retailers back through any intermediary dealers to the cutting facility and often directly to the mine.

For the savvy diamond consumer, especially from the U.S., this makes for an available market in conflict-free diamonds. After all, a diamond is a diamond. The Canadian quality is easily equal to Russian and African mined diamonds without the prejudice and preconceived notions associated with diamonds having origins in these countries. 

An ethical buyer of diamonds may have difficulties, whether deserved or not with buying product from the two other areas. Though the largest world supplier of diamonds some shortcuts are taken around ecologically friendly practices in Russian mining. And as most people are now aware, African mining practices coined the terms "conflict", "illicit", and "blood" diamonds.

The use of slave labor and all of its perversions have been used throughout Africa to mine diamonds. The mining and sale of these blood diamonds has raised the equivalent of billions of U.S. dollars used to fund conflicts from civil unrest and marauders in Sierra Leone (now conflict free since 2002) to funding the likes of Al Qaeda.

Human rights organizations have struggled to bring an end to such practices for more years than can be remembered. It was determined, similar to the ivory trade, the best way to fight the situation was to make it less profitable. This trickle down route has only been of minor assistance to the elephants and has only faired slightly better in the area of human rights.

In the 1990s the human rights aspect had become enough of an issue the price of diamonds was beginning to drop. In response the Kimberley Process Certification Scheme or KCPS was developed by the diamond industry and put into practice by the U.N. in the early 2000s.

Participation in KCPS requires countries ensure diamonds exported are shipped with numbered, government issued certificates pledging the diamonds are conflict free. The stones are to be shipped via sealed containers to further ensure their conflict-free status. Importing countries are charged with refusing shipments that do not include a Kimberley Process Certificate. The KCPS is a voluntary process monitored by the diamond industry itself. 

Over seventy countries participate in Kimberley and proponents of the program quote over ninety-nine percent of diamonds are conflict-free, while critics put the number closer to seventy-five. The actual percentage lands somewhere between.

One of the more difficult problems lies in what truly makes a blood diamond. The KCPS defines the diamonds rather narrowly as coming from rebel conflicts. But there are certainly cases of forced labor and inhumane treatment outside of rebel conflicts. There is a push to redefine the definition to read something along the lines of - a diamond whose extraction is directly associated with violence, regardless of actor - which is what most already understand the terms to be.

Also conflicts can be cyclical. While Sierra Leone was one of the most brutal of the blood diamond trade's sources in the 1990s it is now considered respectable. There are also the countries that are considered off limits such as Zimbabwe even though it has a reputable mine within its borders in Murowa. And of course smuggling of diamonds from non-participating countries to those who do participate and certify is rampant as well. Critics also often sight the self monitoring as problematic.

Problems on the supply side of the industry aren't the only issue. Most nations that supply diamonds do not cut and polish their own. The KCPS covers rough diamonds not necessarily cut diamonds. Factories in Surat, Gujarat in India cut and polish 90% of the world's diamonds. Unfortunately it has been well documented many of the same locations that cut KCPS certified diamonds also cuts black market diamonds without concern as to keeping them separated.

The Government Certified Canadian Diamond Program guarantees diamonds are mined, cut and polished in the Canadian Northwest Territories. Making them 100% guaranteed ethically produced, both humanely and environmentally. Many American buyers feel not only can they enjoy their diamonds but feel good about them too.

Unfortunately, countries such as Botswana suffer from the somewhat misplaced loyalty to Canada. As recently as 1966 Botswana could boast the title of one of the poorest countries on Earth. But thanks to the discovery of and carefully monitored trade of its diamonds, it is now held as a pinnacle of success in emerging markets. For every Canadian stone purchased in the attempt to stop the trade of blood diamonds a stone from a country such as Botswana is not purchased. With enough purchasers avoiding African diamonds all together, countries such as Botswana become real losers.

But for all of the political ins and outs Ira felt for him the best way to maximize his sales was via the current fashion of favoring Canadian stones. It was where he chose to take his cut of the market. A market with diamond retail sales reaching over $72 billion in 2012. Not bad for a product that is not in the least rare.

Ira made a decent living from not only his dealing, but also from sales in his rather small, but exclusive shop run by himself and his wife, Jaimie. He dealt with several Canadian representatives. For the most part he didn't have issues in his procurement process and things were relatively quiet and level for him. They were, that is, until he went into business with one Mr. Black.

Ira had managed to avoid conflict diamonds as well as anyone. One sure tell in his trade was if it seemed too good to be true, it no doubt was. He had been approached more than once by dealers offering gems well below the market price. He was well educated as to what is involved in getting a diamond to the U.S. and the ridiculous mark up attached to them.

Black's pricing was typically lower than most, though not outrageously so. Just enough to make large purchases a bit more lucrative. Now and again he was higher than Ira's other sources. But on average it made sense to deal with him, especially in the lower carat stones which could be purchased in bulk.

Ira had never actually met Black, instead he worked through intermediaries. He had spent approximately a year, what he now dubbed a honeymoon, dealing with educated and mild mannered representatives. It was when his friend Jonas Cord contacted him to inform him a diamond he had purchased came with a forged certificate that he began an investigation of his own. 

As it turned out this anomaly wasn't easily explained away. It wasn't a typo or something as random as that. Upon checking a sampling of certificates he found it wasn't a one time event at all. His shop was teeming with bogus certs. Not only did he have the illicit pieces of paper they all came from purchases from Black.

Upon confronting him, Black made it very clear that not only would he not do anything to rectify the situation he would expect Ira to up his orders and keep his mouth shut. After all, Ira wouldn't want to see any accidents befalling his pretty wife or their daughter. Their daughter who was in collage out-of-state where Ira couldn't keep an eye on her.

From then on his contacts had become tougher and rougher. No longer did he listen to sale pitches from intermediary salesmen. He now was forced to accept delivery of the diamonds without a say into his desire or need for them. Black was even pressuring him to begin dropping his other contacts to enter into an exclusive situation.

His friend Jonas came to him asking about the origin of the diamond. It turned out he wasn't only curious about the single stone from Ira. He too ran across a bogus certificate in his own shop. His further investigation came up with the same results as Ira's had. But unlike his friend he hadn't confronted Mr. Black, his new source for Canadian diamonds. He remained quiet about it to the unseen dealer and he remained in what Ira had coined as the "honeymoon".

They couldn't see a way out. And this was what Ira told Mr. Leigh, the owner of a custom made shirt establishment. Another intermediary. This time though it was an intermediary for the A-Team. 

Mr. Leigh assured him he would send the message on and if the team, after thoroughly vetting Ira and Jonas, decided to accept the job he would receive further instructions. If the two didn't check out or the team decided not to accept he would receive a note in the mail reading simply, "Thanks, but no thanks," written in an exceptionally neat cursive hand.

This was how Ira found himself on a pier looking over the rail contemplating the waves. His attention shifted from below to above. The seagulls randomly either dancing through the sky or hovering overhead.

"Do you consider seagulls to be pigeons of the sea or do you have a better appreciation for them?" He startled hearing the voice next to his ear. He spun and was rather surprised by the speaker. How was a man of his size, well proportioned and well over six foot, able to sneak up on someone unnoticed?

Looking like any other tourist on the pier the man wore a baseball cap over silvered hair, cargo shorts, running shoes and a tattered blue Oxford which waved open in the breeze exposing an athletic grey T-shirt emblazoned with "Alcatraz Swim Team - Coach". He took a position next to Ira on the rail, leaning on his forearms. His gaze followed the gulls.

Ira too looked up at the gulls, "Pigeons don't sound as bad when you call them rock doves. Don't sound like vermin." One of the gulls eyed him, looking for the possibility of a handout. "I like pigeons."

"Why's that?"

"They're adaptive and resourceful. I would imagine much like yourself. Makes sense you would like them too."

"You're intuitive. I like that. And, by the way, I do like pigeons." Smiling, he turned and leaned the other way, now resting on his elbows. "My name is Hannibal Smith," he said extending a hand, "I'd like you to meet my team."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	3. Chapter 3

John was obsessed with Face's Adam's apple. He hunted it down on his neck and once captured? Ahhh .... heaven. He loved to see it. The masculine display of it. He loved to nuzzle it, to take it in his teeth. He loved Temp's trust in him, head back, throat exposed, John's teeth on him. No fear, only mewls and moans of contentment.

He hadn't yet entered Temp's body. Poised at his entrance while he amused himself with his lover's neck and jaw and throat and where his neck curved into his shoulder and in the pussy willow softness of his earlobes and the hollow where his collarbones joined and nuzzling into his curls and....

"....please."

"Hmmmm?"

"I need you inside me," he whispered. John had prepped him and slicked himself, then moved on single-mindedly kissing every bit of Temp's flesh from the shoulders up.

"Whatever you say." He petted Temp's forehead then pressed in, carefully, slowly, before he paused. After a moment he asked, "You ready, Babe?"

"Mmmmm."

John leaned up and back, elbows locked, watching Temp's face as he began to ease in and out. So slow and careful to begin. Temp's expression was blank as he concentrated on absorbing Hannibal's increasing tempo. He raised his knees slightly. It was just enough for John to graze along his button. Just enough for his mouth to pop open and his brow to furrow before his head turned fully to one side. John licked up the tendon bulging from his neck then kissed his cheek. He was rewarded with a light smile and hands caressing his head and neck.

Temp reached around his shoulders, pulling him in, pulling him down to bury his head in John's neck as he in turn slid his hand through Temp's hair to hold the back of the younger man's head. Hannibal hummed low, rumbling in his chest. Finding a rhythm, he rocked his man. Temp ran his hands along John's sides, savoring the feel of smooth heated skin against his palms.

Before long Hannibal pulled out and urged Face to roll. From behind with his left arm supporting his weight he wrapped his right around Temp, across his upper chest to the opposite shoulder, holding him tightly to himself. Pressing his cheek to Temp's ear, murmuring. He circled his hips pushing in on the upward arc, drawing "Oh John," from his lover.

Now threading his arms under Temp's armpits taking hold at the front of his shoulders Hannibal rocked. Sliding in and out then laid over his back, he began pounding into him. Face's legs were spread with Hannibal's knees on the outside. At his ankles Temp's feet were hooked over the top. John could feel the movement as Temp curled and uncurled his toes.

Hannibal wasn't curling his toes, he curled his entire torso. Curved over him as he brought his knees to each side of Face's waist. His back rounded as he buried himself deep inside Temp's body, buried himself deep in his neck. He felt a flutter within as Temp mewled from the pleasure of it. Again finding the perfect rhythm Face didn't need to move with him. Hannibal was giving to him, not expecting anything in return.

Temp suddenly rolled him off, onto his back. He propped on an elbow, grabbing his own penis at the base, in a moment looking down on John. First brushing an errant lock from his forehead, he kissed John's lips. "I was too close. Not ready for it to end," he panted. He laid his head on John's shoulder as his heart slowed.

After a few Temp rolled to his back taking John with him. His arms wrapped around the broad shoulders as he kissed and whispered into John's neck. Whispers only understood by the two of them. Secrets.

With Hannibal above him he raised and spread his knees as he was entered once more. He sighed with the slow steady drop as they were again joined. Temp's legs wrapped around Hannibal's spread thighs, toes tucked under John's ankles. Hannibal led them in a breathy kiss as Face stroked his ribs. His hands slid upward then down his arms, feeling the biceps contract as John held him solidly to his own body.

Hannibal knelt up bringing Temps hips with him, pumping into him and sliding his hands down the length of his body from his brush to his pecs and back again. He urged Temp's calves back around his thighs while he grasped at his hips.

Temp's head was back with his eyes closed. _He's so beautiful_ John thought. Leaning forward he kissed his mouth, along the jaw, down his neck to his apple, nuzzling it with his nose before gently kissing it. He reached between them taking Temp fully in hand gently squeezing in time. With one careful pull upward he released the solid form. Face whimpered from the loss.

Hannibal moved to support himself on his hands, he angled Temp to make contact with his prostate with each thrust. As he picked up speed Face spread his knees wide lifting his pelvis. John hammered him until Temp, looking him in the eye, just began to shake his head, signaling it was too much - and Hannibal slowed it all down.

He was no longer pounding, he was no longer thrusting. He was caressing. Caressing in and out, caressing him ever so gently. Hannibal felt a thrill knowing Temp had given him what is most private, yet also most masculine about himself. Given as a gift he was humbled to receive.

He looked down on his beautiful man, "Temp."

His eyes opened in answer.

"You're everything to me. Do you know that?"

Temp extended his hand, cupping John's cheek, "Beau."

They both curled together. Face brought his legs up, almost folded in half, squeezing John's ribs with his knees. John positioned his knees again along the outside of Temp's hips as his arms went under and around. He was at once engulfing, but also clinging. Kissing him full and hard, mouths opening, tongues stroking.

Inside Temp's body John stroked and massaged, pressed and filled. Temp's heat surrounded him. He was soon to lose himself in the push and pull of charged skin.

Breaking the seal of their lips, John looked from one blue eye to the other, "Are you ready?"

Temp stared starry eyed up to him, his pupils enlarged, his lips parted. Not yet lost he could still answer, he nodded his head.

John lifted his chest and abs seizing between them. It didn't take long with the speed and force he used around Temp's cock to bring him to a climax. He watched that lovely face tighten then grinned as all tension slid away leaving his lover with a look of contentment.

Urged on by watching his love, John's movements were no longer consciously his own. He slammed himself into Temp's body, digging into the mattress with his feet, striving for purchase to grind in deeper. He drove into the warmth. Unable to take in enough of the sensation of that heated slide, with a final powerful push, tensing at his hilt, he flooded the inside of his lover. Pulling out only an inch he again pushed in as the last of his seed was expelled.

John buried his face in Temp's neck, panting, pressing his cheek to the side of Temp's head. Remaining there for minutes as he once more gained control of his breath. He ran his cheek up then lightly down, glancing along the soft curls. Into his ear he whispered in an unsettled breath, "How I love you."

Temp turned his head to find John's ear, "Tu es tout pour moi aussi."

The silvered head popped up in front of him, his face questioning and smiling.

"You're everything to me too," Temp translated as he relaxed his legs, splaying his knees out. Clenching his muscles, he tightly held John within him. Hannibal carefully relaxed his legs as well, trying not to exit his lover's body. He knows how the younger man loves to lay in the afterglow still joined. John worked his arms around his man's back, encircling him, moving just to the side. Taking some of his weight off Face's ribs and lungs.

"I love you, Beau," Temp whispered into John's ear.

With that Hannibal smiled and kissed him. Kissed just in the corner of his mouth then laid his head along a shoulder. Hannibal sighed thinking there is nowhere he'd rather be than tangled in sheets with this man.

 

The following morning the four men set about reassessing the plan. The approach they had taken was as straight forward as possible and uncomplicated. At least as uncomplicated as Hannibal's plans ever are. Infiltrate, identify and take down. They'd done it a hundred times before.

Face's sophistication made him the natural choice to put on the inside, securing a position as a "honeymoon" representative. Hannibal set up shop as a new dealer in town. With the backing of Ira and his friend Jonas, it was easy for him to slip into the closed little lapidary community. Murdock was an up and coming jewelry designer with a need for quantities of stones to be purchased conveniently via Hannibal. BA was in the background covering all things mechanical and electronic, possibly to also be placed on the inside as a new thug if needed. Seemed to be slow going, but everything was on track.

A week later and Face had accompanied another rep to several shops before mentioning he heard about a fairly recently opened shop run by a man from Alabama or Tennessee by way of NYC. Immediately Hannibal's little shop had turned into an attractive mark for Black's operation. Small and new to the area. Hannibal's new persona, a southerner by the name of Mr. George, was enthusiastic in accepting the business of Misters Sand and Sienna, Face and his mentor respectively.

Face had asked for and been granted Mr. George's shop as his first steady solo jeweler. He had lead them to the shop and it seemed fitting for him to take it over. He had been brought to the "office", which really was just a dark Thai restaurant, for his first case of diamonds. He met Hannibal and Ira to look over the stones. Ira was along to weed out what truly wouldn't be of interest to a knowledgeable jeweler. He asked if he could take the case with him to sort in the evening, he had an order back at his shop he needed to take care of and couldn't devote the time necessary that afternoon. Face and Hannibal agreed it would be fine as long as they had the case back first thing in the morning.

Returning to the office the following afternoon with a good part of his case sold, he told of his great luck in showing up at Mr. George's shop the same time as one Koch Drumm, jewelry designer to the stars, even held the door open for him. The three of them went through every stone in the case. He was pleased to announce the three had agreed to meet again just as soon as Face, Mr. Sand, could restock.

"What was wrong with the first alias you chose," Hannibal had asked later that evening, wondering why Face was now Mr. Sand rather than Tom Korrel, the original name.

"Don't know. They said I looked like a 'Sandy' and that's what they've been calling me ever since, Mr. Sand. Told me not to use any other name."

"What did you say about still having the stones?"

"Told them I would make a deal with you and Drumm. I would further discount if you purchased the new increased quantity with cash. Said I would hold all stones until then. Told 'em I was giving you time to round up the cash."

"Perfect, Face. Good work."

"This is turning into a long job," BA noted.

"That it is. What are we getting on the tracking we added to the case?" Hannibal inquired.

BA turned his laptop around. "It went to a location not far outside the city. Looks like a old farm. Goggle Earthed it." He pulled up the satellite image again. It appeared to be a deserted farmhouse from the image.

"Base?"

"Don't think so, Boss. Spent most of today watchin' it. No activity. Was going to go again tomorrow. I'm thinking they met there, maybe even out on the road."

"Okay. Let me know. Face, see if you can weasel anything out of them, but don't push it. You're too close."

Face piped in, "There's been a black Mercedes parked outside the restaurant every time I've been there. Doesn't belong to anyone working at the restaurant. I'm getting curious who it does belong to."

"Ever move?" asked Hannibal.

"Always parks in the same spot in the lot, but I can see it's been moved." He twirled more spaghetti onto his fork. "This is great, Murdock. Special ingredient?"

"It would have been better if Hannibal let me put in the whole cup. I only got a spoonful in it." Murdock looked a little put out.

Face looked at BA and they both looked to Hannibal. Hannibal looked from one to the other.

"It's alright. I stopped him." He took another mouthful from his plate as a demonstration.


	4. Chapter 4

 

"All I can get is it's a big shipment that needs to be quickly dispersed," Face shook his head between bites of fries.

They were at the In-N-Out Burger in Costa Mesa. This job was dragging on and they were only a little closer to Mr. Black himself, but they were well onto the deal. Black wasn't actually bringing the diamonds through Canada. He was bringing them up from South America via Mexico and flights into Florida. His ace in the hole seemed to be a Canadian who could lay their hands on actual certificates that were filled out with the false info.

BA came into the restaurant in a hurry. Sliding in next to Murdock he had no hellos or other salutations, "Somethin's not right here." He unpacked his diminutive laptop shoving his two burgers out of the way. Flipping his device open and turning it for all of them to see. "Faceman turned his case over to Ira last night, right?" They all acknowledged affirmative.

This was for Ira to pick out the best stones. Though this time he was to only pick out half as many. It was a stalling tactic. No one had or wanted to turn over the cash to purchase the gems. The plan was for Mr. Drumm to become finicky causing Face to have to bring several cases to choose from. They were hedging this would all be brought to a conclusion before and money needed to change hands.

"Yeah? Well why did he take the case home then drive it to a Best Western in Santa Monica?" He pointed out the path the tracking device followed.

"Where is it now?" Face asked.

"Back at his house."

"BA, can you attach an audio device to this?"

"It'll be tricky, Boss. I'll do what I can, but there's nowhere for me to attach an exposed mic. 'S why I didn't do it in the first place. Anything we get will be muffled at best."

"See what you can do. We might get lucky."

"Okay Boss. Hey, those my fries you eatin', fool?"

"Sorry, big guy. Got caught up in the moment. Want me to get you more?" he offered putting a couple more fries in his mouth.

"No. Just quit eatin' the ones that are already here!" he snapped.

 

Mr. Sand accompanied Mr. Cerulean on several calls to strong arm a handful of jewelers including Ira. Upon reaching the shop of the Team's client, they didn't find Ira in evidence. Instead his wife was holding down the store. When questioned by the ignorant muscleman, Jaimie simply said Ira was out for the day.

Leaning on her for more information, Face could see fear rising in her. Not getting anywhere, Cerulean opened his case and told her he had Ira's shipment. She looked at him obviously not understanding.

"He didn't say anything about an order to me," she said looking back and forth between the two men.

"Don't look at him! You look at me," barked the thug. "Where's the deposit?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she was pleading for relief.

"I ain't leavin' here without payment." He reached to her face. "What a ya say you and me set up a repayment schedule? Wait outside Sand, this won't take long."

"Okay that's enough. Back off." Face stepped up taking Jaimie and moving her behind him.

"Get the fuck out of the way." Cerulean puffed his chest and advanced on the other man.

Face dipped his chin and dropped his voice to a growl, "I told you to back off." Though bigger and meaner, Face had been watching him. He was a clumsy oaf who didn't appear to have anything of concern behind his threats.

"This is my run, asshole. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"I think I'm the guy who is going to add all of your teeth to my jewel case if you don't get the fuck out on the sidewalk," taking a step forward, "NOW!" he roared.

Cerulean blustered. Not so tough when he wasn't dealing with frightened jewelers. Nothing but a bully, he didn't actually know how to handle a real bad ass.

The blowhard retreated when Face took another step. Face dropped his chin again, looking over his brow, an obvious threat.

Cerulean hurled a "Fuck you" before leaving the shop.

"It's okay, Jaimie."

"What do you mean, 'It's okay.' It's not okay. My husband is into something and I don't know what to do. These men show up here and Ira takes them in back and they whisper. He has secret meetings here and only Heaven knows where else. Sometimes he says something then right away his face goes white and he tells me to forget I heard it." She ran both hands through her hair. "I know all these secrets. He keeps telling them to me, but I don't know what they mean."

She walked around behind the counter and stepped over the threshold to the back room. "What I'd give to get out of this mess." A tear spilled from her eye.

Face went around the counter as well. He checked the door and window to the shop to be sure Cerulean wasn't watching then reached up to cup her cheek. "That's what we're here for, Jamie. Believe me. We're going to put all of this right. You and Ira will have your lives back."

"Maybe Ira will," she said bitterly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean when this is over I'm leaving him. I've had enough. He's a fool and he's dragged me into it. He's endangered our daughter. He can't keep his damn mouth shut. Always yammering away to Jonas or me. Then it's, 'But pretend you never heard that. Don't tell anyone. Don't tell your mother. Don't tell your friends. Don't tell those guys from the A-Team.' Well why the hell didn't he just keep his mouth shut to begin with? He's an idiot. I just want to be rid of him."

She was fully in tears now and Face really hated having crying women on his hands. Not to mention he wanted to know what Ira wasn't telling them. He took her in a hug and stepped her back a little deeper into the office.

"Really Jaimie. We'll take care of this for you." He stroked the back of her head and snuck a peek at his watch.

"I just need a break from it all," she snuffled.

"I know Jaimie, but right now I need to get back to Mr. Personality waiting outside. What a ya say we have dinner? You can use me as a sounding board. How does that sound?"

A minute later he had a dinner date and was back outside with the lout handing his case back to him. "No more bullshit and I'll keep quiet about your less than stellar encounter just then. I also won't mention you left your case full of stones and cash behind at a pickup point. Got it?"

What could he do? He mumbled, "Prick," under his breath and yanked the case away.

Face flattened his tie with his palm and said, "Let's go, asshole."

Jaimie went to the back alley of the shop. "They're gone."

"What did you arrange?"

"He's taking me to dinner."

"He needs to be seen."

"I'll be sure he is."

"There can't be any doubts."

"Look, ' _Ira_ ', I know what I'm doing.

"Sure hope so, ' _Jaimie_ '.


	5. Chapter 5

Face closed the door quietly behind him and made his way to the bar between the kitchen and living area to set his keys there. A lamp had been left on low presumably for him. He switched it off and went down the hallway. Passing the first door he could hear BA snoring low. He stopped to look in to be sure Murdock was sleeping quietly, no tossing or fits from nightmares. The pilot looked peaceful.

At the next bedroom he lifted the door as he opened it. He had noticed earlier it had a terrible squeak. This muffled the culprit and he was able to enter noiselessly. In the dark he could just make out the silhouettes of the chair and dresser. Toeing off his shoes he fished his wallet out of a pocket and set it on the dresser. He stripped down leaving his clothes neatly lain across the chair before padding to the bed and slipping under the covers. Hannibal's back was to him as he snuggled in. 

"You're back early," came the deep rumble.

"I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

"Did you have a nice time?"

"You know. Okay."

"What was she like?"

"Nice. Very intelligent. Got the impression she expected more from life than what she got."

"Who doesn't?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"What did you have for dinner?"

"Started with charcuterie saucisse and then lobster medallions in vanilla for an entree."

"Did you bring a doggy bag?"

"Are you kidding? If she had gone to the ladies room I would have licked my plate. What did you have?"

"A quarter pounder with cheese and fries."

"That sounds good too," he enthused.

Hannibal chuckled low and turned his face to the ceiling. "You're not fooling anyone, ya heartless little bastard. Losing your touch?"

"I don't think clearly when I'm satiated."

"Goodnight, Babe," a smile obvious in his voice.

Temp buried his forehead into the broad back. With his arm around John's waist, his hand slipped under the elastic. Brushing the hair trail under his navel he settled his hand on the warmth of John's stomach.

"Bonne nuit, Beau. Je t'aime."

 

The following morning Murdock and BA were already sipping second cups of coffee as Hannibal was pouring his first.

"Faceman say anything when he came in last night?" BA asked.

"Not much, but he'll be out soon. He's up." As if on cue they could hear the shower start up. "He got in fairly early."

It wasn't long before the man in question joined them in the almost carnal pleasure of caffeine in the morning. He had poured his cup and sat rather stiffly at the bar next to Hannibal. They looked at each other and Hannibal smiled.

He knew Face was always uncomfortable the morning after wining and dining or otherwise engaging in other acts of flirtation and coquetry with men and women on the job. No one could deny he was a handsome man. Yet using those looks to further the team's acumen could be a source of embarrassment for him considering he was in a monogamous relationship.

The tension in Face's frame was the start of a silent conversation they'd had numerous times before. It was saying he felt he had betrayed John even though it was all platonic and part of the job. Hannibal's smile told him it was alright, he understood. Looking away said he still felt badly about it. John leaning in to bump shoulders asked for Temp to look at him. When he did, Hannibal would smile again. Depending on the reaction he would touch Temp's leg, drop an arm over his shoulder, pull him in for a light peck above his ear or on his temple or, like this time, on the shoulder. Any one of which told him John loved him and that was all he needed to know. He could let the day begin.

_Damned Catholic guilt._

BA had been looking at the sports page, but Murdock had been listening in, as it were. Hannibal looked to the other side of the half-round bar to Murdock and winked. Telling him not to worry, Temp was okay.

Murdock brushed off the momentary concern and plunged in, "So how'd it go last night?"

Face put on his business as usual mask and got started. "You know, she's a real nice woman. But she had it in her head when she married this gemstone guy she would be swimming in the things. Turns out it's not as lucrative as she thought. Not bad at all, but she seems to think otherwise." He took a sip of coffee.

"Anyhow, she complained about her husband having a big mouth and not being able to keep a secret. Well she's just as bad." He got up and went around the corner in the kitchen. Asking through the pass-thru, "Any of those English muffins left?"

"They're in the freezer."

Pulling a muffin from the oblong package he continued, "So the Thai restaurant is going to be the meeting place to discuss this big shipment. Anyone else want one before I put them away?"

Mumbles of no thank you drifted to him. After returning the pack to the freezer he stared at the heating toaster. "Sounds like there's going to be a prep meeting at the restaurant on Tuesday."

"You invited, Kid?"

"No, but that doesn't mean I won't come up with a reason to be there anyhow."

"How does she know all this?" asked Hannibal.

"She doesn't, per se. It seems Cerulean has a big mouth too. I put it together from bits and pieces."

The toaster popped and he examined one of the halves. Having been frozen the toasting had only defrosted it. He returned it to the toaster and again pushed down the lever.

Thinking _A watch toaster never browns_ he turned around to them. "Hopefully our Mr. Black will show himself. Maybe leave a fingerprint or two."

"Did you find out anything about the gem case Ira had taking a trip to Santa Monica?"

"That was a little strange. I told her we appreciated Ira taking the time at night to sort through the stones. She said it's his pleasure. She watched him do it the other night before they went to bed. Said she got home from grocery shopping while he was looking them over. Without flat out asking her I didn't get anything about the case leaving the house. I didn't want to press it. I think that's something we're going to need to find out from Ira himself."

The toaster popped. Face slathered the two pieces with butter and returned to his seat.

"BA, you have any luck with a mic for the case?" Hannibal asked.

"There's no way to insert an exterior mic where it won't be seen. Thought I had an idea along the handle, but anybody but Face using it and being careful, it would pop right out. And I tested one inside, couldn't hear squat."

"Well let us know if you have an epiphany. Something I've been thinking about, guys." All three looked his way. "I hate to say it, but I think we're going to have split up soon. This job's taking a lot longer than I think any of us had in mind." Hannibal didn't like separating. Beside not having Face with him, while on a job it made him nervous not being able to see his boys safe every night. Unfortunately on longer jobs it was best for them to not draw attention to themselves as a group.

Temp had the same thought and the same feelings about it. He agreed with Hannibal. "I think you're right. Later today I'll get on finding a couple more residences."

"Think you could find me a treehouse?" asked Murdock. "When I was kid I had a great treehouse."

BA rolled his eyes before getting up from the bar. Hannibal and Face both smiled at their goofy pilot.

"I'll see what I can do, Buddy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this story, please let me know. Click kudos or leave me a comment. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Temp had been busying himself with the little folds of skin where groin meets thigh, kissing one side and fingering along the other. John raised his knee up and out, extending an invitation. Temp licked straight up his cock to the the very tip then worked down again. He nimbly flicked his tongue left and right over the ridge of the vein running the length.

Lifting John's balls Face gently rolled them. He followed their seam downward before pressing and stroking the perineum. John's muscles squeezed. Back to the crown he glanced up to see John watching him. He closed his eyes and did that little flick of his tongue to feel Hannibal twitch inside his mouth.

Temp left him to open the bedside drawer, feeling for the slick he had left there. Returning to kiss his lover's mouth, he blindly felt over the contents of the drawer, opening it further and trying again. "Just a second." He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The city lights lit the room, at least enough for him to see outlines and shapes.

John could hear items scattering inside the drawer, bouncing along the sides like pinballs.

"Shit. Is it on your side?" When John didn't answer he whipped his head over his shoulder to shoot him his best 'I'm about to have a hissy fit and you _know_ how you hate that' look.

John was half sitting up against the headboard waving the treasure next to his ear, grin on his face.

"Bastard," Temp said before kneeling on the bed. Straddling above his lover, he wrapped one arm under his hips and one around his shoulders, lifting him straight up into his chest, moving him down the bed. John marveled at his strength and laughed.

"Gimme that," he huffed, whipping it out of the offending hand. He slicked his own cock while John just laughed. "And stop laughing."

"Make me."

"With pleasure," placing a sweet kiss on his lips. Leaning away he opened his eyes and couldn't help smiling. A hand was caressing the side of his head. He leaned into it. It was one of his greatest pleasures, the endorphin release from this contact. It so soothed him. He closed his eyes and listed further into it.

"Uh, Temp?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Lose your train of thought?"

"Oh....right. Spread 'em."

Hannibal couldn't help laughing again as he opened his legs.

 

 

"What? Ya throw a party and not invite me?"

Face had barged past the hostess desk in the front of the restaurant brushing off attempts to keep him from entering the party room toward the back of the place. Talking fast, saying he would only be a minute. Walking in he wasn't surprised in the least to see a small group intent on one Mr. Greene. Seated at the table were Mr. Fern, Mr. Cobalt, Mr. Sienna, Mr. Melon, his old friend Mr. Cerulean and someone he hadn't met before, Mr. Van Dyke.

After making his apologies Face was invited to sit in on the meeting by Van Dyke. "Heard a lot about you, Mr. Sand. Mr. Black and I have been keeping an eye on your activities. We're impressed."

"Thank you. It's nothing," Face replied with false modesty.

"Greene, why don't we back up a little to get Sand here up to speed."

"Yes sir."

It was a need to know briefing. The kind Face was familiar with from his time as a Ranger in a war zone. He already knew the gist of it, but picked up a few more of the details. Van Dyke had been summoned to a phone call and returned to announce although Mr. Black had planned on addressing the group himself, he was unable to attend. He would let Greene know when to reschedule.

The gathering broke up and the parties went on their various ways. Misters Greene and Van Dyke remained as per Black's orders. After fifteen minutes, time enough to ensure the others had left, they were escorted to the office where Black was waiting for them.

"Why didn't you come out to the meeting?"

"Where did you pick up that guy in the suede jacket?" asked Black.

"That's Sand. The one we've been talking about," offered Greene.

"Do you two have even a clue who that is?"

"Name's Tom Korrel."

"No, you idiots. That is Templeton Peck."

Van Dyke and Greene looked at each other to see if the name registered with the other then turned back to Black with questioning expressions.

"That's Faceman."

Nothing.

"From the A-Team," he explained like they were four-year-olds.

"The A-Team? What the fuck?"

"You think he's a member of the A-Team??" Van Dyke was incredulous.

"I don't think so. I _know_ so!" he barked. "He's Hannibal's second. His lieutenant."

"Why would the A-Team be interested in us?"

"They aren't interested in _us_. They're interested in _me_."

"Are you sure?"

"Can we continue or should I come back when you're done asking stupid questions?"

Both Van Dyke and Greene wanted to ask what they were going to do about this, but didn't dare.

"Don't you want to know what we're going to do about this?" asked Black.

Rock, meet hard place.

Van Dyke is the one who worked up the nerve. "You know, it's pretty dark in here. In the dining rooms that is." He paused to assess Black's response. One thing he is certain of. If the man isn't a psychopath he is at the very least a sociopath. He currently isn't twitching or growling, so Van Dyke continues. "Before we get our panties in a bunch, let's be sure it's him."

 

Face's instructions, given forty-five minutes prior, were to meet Van Dyke and Black at an address within the Port of Los Angeles complex. Each of the Team knew what the others were thinking. None of them had been to the docks since that fateful day they exchanged one Lynch for another. Ostensibly Face was to be at the location to accept the cases brought by other members.

Hannibal and BA were following one of the Volvos after it had pulled out of the restaurant lot. Checking in with Murdock they found he was well behind another of the Volvos leaving a used car dealership Face had overheard was another pickup point.

It seemed the shipment had come in three sections. One to the restaurant, one to the dealership and the third to a location Face was unable to ascertain. They would be converging at the docks. This was where Face fit in. Whether that was the case still remained to be seen.

After another round of twenty questions, it was agreed Black would positively identify Peck. If in the light of day it turned out to be a mistake, he would continue with his part. However, if Black was sure they indeed were in the presence of the Faceman, he would be removed from the equation.

Pulling along side the targeted car, Hannibal bit off the end of a cigar. He took a bit more effort than necessary to open the window and throw the nub out. While doing so he took a good look in the Volvo beside them.

The SUV they were driving was taller than the sedan, though not so much Hannibal couldn't see the driver. But even having a clear view he was somewhat taken aback. The man's face was in some way awry. With the brief glance, Hannibal's mind registered the distortion, but couldn't make sense of it.

Instinctively he dropped his gaze to gather other information. The man was wearing worn blue jeans. His top was a long sleeve, V-necked T-shirt. The kind BA favored in a powdery blue. Beside him on the seat was a denim battle jacket, typical Levis or Wrangler. There was a glimpse of printing or embroidery on the back in black. These observations were made in approximately three to four seconds.

Hannibal focused back on the driver himself. Hair was a light brown and curled, similar to Face's he noted. It was just a little darker. A bit above his ear Hannibal made out a line. A horizontal line where the hair framed his face going back, disappearing into the curls.

The man's jaw was lightly stubbled also like Face, but this stubble abruptly ended, as though he were in the process of growing extraordinarily long sideburns. That's when Hannibal saw it. The distortion of the face was a mask. A clear mask.

It was not of a character that he could recognize, but had considerable detail. The transparency, at first look, didn't make it read as a mask. It needed to be studied to see it. Hannibal thought to himself it was quite clever. Unless the driver did something to draw scrutinizing attention to himself it was a hide in plain sight disguise.

The car ahead of BA was slowing and he needed to drop back. "Get a good look at him?"

"I did, but he's wearing a mask."

"A mask?" BA sounded surprised. "I didn't see that."

"You wouldn't without looking close. It's very subtle. Can you get behind him."

"Sure, but let me get a car between." BA eased back again.

Murdock came in on the shared earpiece, "Hey Colonel? This guy I'm following? He's wearing this weird mask."

"Ours is too, Murdock. Where are you?"

Murdock gave his direction and cross streets.

"You're running parallel to us," and gave Murdock their location, two blocks West.

"What's this?" observed BA.

"What?" Hannibal wasn't following him.

"See that other Volvo?"

BA had seen it turn into traffic a block or so back. Now both men watched as it negotiated its way to the Volvo they had been following. Same model, same year, just a different color.

In the earpiece they heard Murdock, "Coming your way. My Volvo just turned in your direction."

"Okay Murdock. Stay on course. Don't come our way for another block."

"Roger that," came back the pilot.

Within two blocks the third Volvo, the one Murdock had been following, turned onto the street ahead of them. They watched as it merged in with the other two. Keeping a car's distance behind they followed as the group made their way in the direction of the docks.

Hannibal and BA were in the right hand lane behind the convoy when it suddenly split. One made a right turn, another moved into a left hand turn lane, leaving the third to continue straight. Making a fast decision BA stayed behind the car they had been following all along. They took the right hand turn with it.

Through the earpiece came Face's voice, "I don't know what happened. No one is here. Van Dyke was supposed to meet me early."

Hannibal responded, "Get out of there Temp. We're following several of them and they've just split in three directions. Something is up. I don't know what, but something's not right. Head back to the condo."

"Okay, on my way."

They kept an easy pace with the S40, hanging back as it pulled into the back parking lot of a coffee shop. The driver parked and exited the car taking the denim jacket and a briefcase with him. Hannibal popped out of the SUV when the man went in the back door of the coffee shop. He just caught the man slipping the mask off, sliding it over the back of his head, before he passed through the entrance.

Hannibal hurried through the door and found himself in a wide hallway, maybe twenty feet long. To his left were the restrooms and a door marked "Office". He tried the handle of the office door, locked. Next was the women's room, it too was locked. The men's room was open, but empty. He spoke into the cuff of his jacket, "BA, I need you in here to cover the back door and watch the office and restrooms."

"I'm on it Boss."

As Hannibal made his way down the hall the hum of the lunchtime crowd became chatter. There were people overflowing from the shop proper into the hallway. Making it to the end he found it opened to a shop in full swing. Baristas flew behind the counters pouring coffee, working a giant brass espresso maker, serving up sandwiches, bagels and muffins. Every seat at the tables were taken along with every spot at the standing bar. He kept tabs on those exiting the front door at the other end of the shop, not looking back knowing BA had it covered.

He blocked out a mental grid of the establishment and began scanning it for the V-neck T-shirt and the denim jack with black lettering and design. Nothing. He walked straight through to the front door that opened to the sidewalk and street. Nothing in either direction.

The man could have been picked up by a passing vehicle in which case he was long gone; otherwise, he had to be inside the shop. He simply couldn't have made it through the crowd and off the street without Hannibal seeing him.

He went back in the shop and immediately spied BA at the far end. A second sweep was made of the shop as he worked his way to rejoin the big guy. "Is the car still out back?"

"Hasn't been touched. I have a tracker with me. I'll attach it. Maybe they didn't completely abandon the car."

While BA stopped next to the car to tie his shoelace and attach the tracking device Hannibal spoke into his cuff, "Face, Murdock, where are you guys?"

Murdock responded. "I thought I saw one of the Volvos backtrack. By the time I got turned around I'd lost them. Where you want me, Boss?"

"Head back to the condo. We'll meet you and Face there." He looked up and saw BA heading his way. "You're probably close to the condo, huh Face?" There was no answer. "Face? Where are you?" No response. "Temp?"

 

Face had put his car in reverse after speaking with Hannibal. As he reached across the seats and looked over his shoulder to back up, the rear of the car was rammed by a black sedan. He was thrown forward. His chest crashed into the locked up seatbelt whiplashing his neck causing the side of his head to just miss slamming into the steering wheel. None the less it all happened so fast he was stunned. 

The driver's door window shattered. In the back of Face's mind he wondered why the delayed reaction, then became aware the window was being broken out. He held up his left hand to shield his eyes. The butt of the gun being used to break out the window landed a blow to his wrist. Pulling away from the pain he saw a hand inside the car working the door lock. He was dazed and began fighting the hand with little effect. The door opened and he was ordered out of the car, weapon pointed at him.

He tried to get out but was held firmly in place. He heard a voice say, "Get him out of there."

A body reached over him and fiddled with the seatbelt latch. He was hauled out through the open door and around to the hood. He was vaguely aware of a black BMW parked diagonally in front of his own vehicle. The same voice was saying, "Well look what we have here. Templeton 'Faceman' Peck." The voice was familiar, he knew it but couldn't put together from where.

There were hands on him now, patting him down, feeling over his back and down his ribs, pistol to his head. His weapon was removed from the shoulder holster and he could here it clattering to the ground behind, then the hand was on him again. After reaching under his hips to his front pockets the hand moved over his ass to his back pockets, continuing on between his legs. The hand clutched his balls and rubbed his crotch provocatively.

Face bolted upright and shoved at the hand, "Keep your fuckin' hands to yourself!" As he turned and looked at the traducer he couldn't make sense of the face. Before he could focus his leg was kicked out from under him and he landed hard on his hands and knees.

His hair was grabbed by the handful and his head jerked up and back, "You're going to be begging for my hands, Faceman." From this angle he could see it was a mask, that's why it didn't look quite right. _And that voice. I know that voi_.... But he didn't finish his thought. He could hear the steel crumble as the back of his head was slammed into the edge of the wheel well.

 

BA pulled up to the car Face had been driving. Murdock was already there walking around it and a black Chevy that appeared to have rear ended it. He walked up to Hannibal and handed him an earpiece. "It was on the ground over here."

They all knew it hadn't been an accident. There hadn't been enough time for an ambulance to arrive and whisk him away. At the very least there would have still been officers going over the crash site. The cars wouldn't be left before tow trucks arrived. The other two men looked on as the color drained from Hannibal's face.

"Show me where," said BA. Murdock showed him the scuff mark he had left behind marking the spot. BA knelt down and touched the spot with his fingers. Looking around then at the car itself, he saw it. Along the wheel well was a small dent. It hadn't been there when he had gone over the car that morning. Investigating it closer he touched it knowing when he examined his fingers there would be blood.

Hannibal was taking in the entire scene, their full surroundings. Then he saw BA looking at the fingers he was rubbing together. He walked over to stand next to where the man was crouched. BA stood up and showed the boss the red smears.

"Oh god."

Murdock put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find him, Hannibal."


	7. Chapter 7

Murdock closed and locked the door to the lapidary shop, flipping the open/closed sign to read closed. He leaned against the wall in a shadow to keep watch. The other two men were just stepping behind the counter to enter the back room.

Ira smiled when he saw Hannibal coming through the doorway, "Hannibal! What brings you here."

Hannibal advanced on him. He wore no smile and moved with a single minded intent. Ira saw BA stop at the doorway, crossing his arms. When Hannibal reached the jeweler he grabbed him by his shirt front, dragging him from his chair.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ira was stunned.

"Your wife told Face you are keeping things from us," Hannibal growled. "I want to know what those things are."

"I don't know what you're talk...."

"DON'T BULLSHIT ME!" Hannibal roared.

Ira shrank.

"What are you keeping from us?"

"I'm not keeping anything from you. I swear. Nothing."

"Why did your wife tell Face otherwise?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Honestly, Hannibal."

"Jaimie told Face you tell her secrets. Then say she isn't to share with anyone. Not with us. Why?!"

"I didn't want her to be in danger."

"Then why tell her?" he asked dripping disdain.

Ira appeared to crumble. "I thought it would make me sound important."

"What are you talking about fool?" BA had moved in next to them.

"She wants to divorce me. I thought if...if ...

"If what?" Hannibal snarled.

"If I was mysterious she would think..."

Hannibal threw him to the floor, disgusted and frustrated. This was the last thing he expected out of the man's mouth. He fought down an urge to beat the shit out of him just because he could. It would solve nothing and no doubt only make things worse. He needed to get away from the pathetic little bastard. BA stepped out of his way and followed him out of the office. Ira had scrabbled to his feet. He spoke from behind them, "Where _is_ Face?"

None of them answered as they left the shop.

When they were safely gone Jaimie joined him. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure. I think something's happened to Peck. We better call Lynch."

  

None of them knew what to make of the jeweler and his wife. There was something wrong there, but for the life of them they didn't know what. The man had checked out. Everything he said about himself was documented. Him and his wife and daughter. They had nothing to go on to find Face, no clues. Hannibal had been ready to storm the Thai restaurant when, "Got some movement, Hannibal. Volvo's on the move," BA reported thirty-seven, fruitless and fitful hours after last talking to Face.

 

Across the street from the motel the Volvo was visible in the parking lot.

"What do you want to do Hannibal? Can't be sure of what room he's in." BA had his elbow along the open window and was worrying his thumb.

"There's a pizza joint about a block back. Murdock go get one."

Forty minutes later BA only knocked on two doors before he found their quarry. The driver of the Volvo was sitting on the edge of the bed, insolent look on his face. Hannibal leaned over him.

"We're looking for one Mr. Sand. What can you tell me about his whereabouts?"

"Nothing."

"Wrong answer," Hannibal growled. "Do you know Mr. Sand?"

"Don't know nothin," the man tilted and turned his head to the side as he looked up at his interrogator.

Hannibal was on him. If asked BA and Murdock would swear they didn't see him move, but he had the man hanging from his shirt front over the bed. BA took Hannibal by the shoulders, inserting his head between the two men. "Easy Hannibal. We want answers. We don't want him dead."

"I'll take care of this, Boss." Hannibal hadn't noticed Murdock on his right until he spoke. "Why don't you watch the door? I'll take care of it."

Hannibal released the man who dropped to the bed. BA stepped to the side as the colonel went to the door. Murdock pulled his weapon.

"Hey! He's right. You don't want me dead," the man said hoping to sound defiant but instead sounding a little panicky.

"I'm not interested in playin' twenty questions," Murdock informed him. "I'm going to ask you one question and you are going to answer it thoroughly. If I have any follow up questions, you will also answer them completely."

"What do I get in exchange?"

"Okay. I'll let that one go. Let me make this as clear as I can." Murdock pointed the gun downward, toward the guy's foot. "I am going to ask you a question. You are going to tell me everything you know. If I have further questions, you will answer those too." He took a breath and looked at the ceiling. Letting the breath back out he looked directly at the man again.

"If you don't answer to my satisfaction I won't kill you, but I will have that mud sucker over there bundle you up and we will go to a quiet place in the woods. When we get there I'm going to shoot you in the foot, then I'm going to ask you again. If you don't answer to my satisfaction I will shoot you in the ankle, then I'm going to ask you again. If you don't answer to my satisfaction I will shoot you in the knee. We will proceed that way to your hip. You will be a cripple.

"If that doesn't get your attention I will start with your other foot and work my way up until you have so much damage you will live in a wheelchair the rest of your life. Now...What do you know about the disappearance of Mr. Sand?"

The information started flowing freely. Black of course was the leader of this group, but Black wasn't his real name. No one went by their real names. Black got the idea from Reservoir Dogs. Each person would be called by a color found in a Crayola crayon box. Thus their captive was known as Mr. Fern and Face had been called Mr. Sand.

No he didn't know Black's real identity. What he did know was if they looked up free roaming psychopaths they'd no doubt find his name there. He's a crazy son of bitch and after this assignment Fern would be relocating as far away from L.A. as he could get.

This last shipment of diamonds had come in three oversized batches. Black had it planned out to force the shipments on Ira, Jonas and Mr. George. But the entire plan had gone to shit. It started with Black thinking Sand was someone from his past for whom he held a longstanding grudge. He sounded paranoid while saying "they" were probably using Peck to lure him out. No, he didn't know who "they" were.

The plan was there would be three pickups. The three of them would converge in traffic and make their way to the docks. There they would meet with Black, Van Dyke and Sand to turn over the cases of diamonds. In the meantime Greene was to approach the three jewelers to coerce them into accepting the shipments, selling them and turning over the proceeds to Black's henchmen.

George couldn't be found, for what are now obvious reasons; Greene couldn't address the other two as Ira, his wife and Jonas were all together at Ira's shop speaking with someone they introduced as Lynch; and to top it off Black confirmed Sand was indeed the man he thought he was. The plan was called off midway through. The drivers were ordered to disperse, assume they had been followed and take evasive action.

Each of the three drivers had been contacted and their briefcase picked up. There had been a meeting at the restaurant where Black had been raving like a lunatic. Fern said he has never seen anyone that deranged and dangerous in his life.

He didn't know what had become of Sand. The only thing he had been certain of was he hadn't been killed outright. There were at least a dozen possible locations he could have been taken to in the city and outside of it. It's certain he wouldn't be returned to the restaurant.

At the mention of a meeting with someone named Lynch the three men all imperceivably flinched. Could it be a coincidence? Doubtful. But when had the CIA entered a dog in this fight? Had they been there all along? Were the two lapidaries and wife CIA or possibly recruited by them? This interrogation was raising more questions than they knew this man had answers to. When questioned further Fern said Greene described Lynch as looking a lot like that actor from Mad Men.

BA had gone to the mini mart down the road and purchased a city and county map. Between that and Google Earth they had located the possible locations where they may find Face. Fern, whose name was really Peter, didn't have anything else of value for them. Their efforts would be focused on finding their missing teammate. To hell with the job. It was beginning to sound like a ruse anyway. They would return to the jewelers later.

They left Peter secured to the motel room toilet. Told him to hang tight, housekeeping would eventually find him. Murdock suggested he may want to consider relocating sooner rather than later.

They began their search with the first location on the list. As they travelled through the streets of L.A. they discussed the best way to approach the search. Splitting up would get them to each location faster, but they had abandoned the car Face had scammed.

Hannibal also had the need to keep his other two boys close. They were down a man and should they run into trouble at any of the locations they would have each other's backs. He knew it would slow their progress, but as much as he abhorred it he had to think in terms of the team, not the individual.

With no rest they were approaching day two of locating, observing and cautiously entering each of the properties. They had started in the city, but were now heading to the agricultural areas outside the suburbs.

One of the sites was the deserted house BA had tracked Face's jewelry transport case to. They approached the old farmhouse flanking it from opposite directions from the road. After checking the two outer buildings they moved to the house itself.

Slipping inside through the backdoor the house was still. Hannibal directed BA toward the open door leading to the basement and signaled Murdock to follow him into the living areas. The stairs to the upper floors were placed directly over where BA had descended. Hannibal motioned to Murdock to take the upstairs.

Murdock kept his footfalls to the outside edges of the steps to avoid causing them to creek. As his head came level with the upstairs floorboards the pilot was hit with the temperature change and the stench. He hesitated on the step as he fought back a gag. Continuing up and through the doorway he found himself in an overheated hall.


	8. Chapter 8

John was sitting on the wooden chair next to a dresser. His elbow rested on the set of drawers and his mind was wandering back to the long drive to the safe house they were now in.

After carrying Temp downstairs and out to the waiting Suburban he surprised BA by telling him to drive North rather than South. Told him to drive away from the condo Face had scammed for this job.

"Murdock, get on the phone to Niewoehner. Ask him if we can use the house. Tell him it's an emergency."

John had wanted to carry Face out of the hellhole, but BA insisted on carrying him into the safe house. Hannibal directed him to the bathroom. There BA left him to his lover and his best friend.

John recalled he and Murdock bathing him. Temp had fainted when they were through with both Hannibal and Murdock grabbing him to slow his fall. He quickly came to and tried to fight them off. Hannibal erred in shouting his name, trying to get his attention. He only fought harder.

Murdock wrapped his body around him and spoke softly and repeatedly in his ear, "It's me, Buddy. You're safe. Hannibal is here too. You're safe."

 

Face rolled over and moaned on the bed, pulling John out of his thoughts. He was up immediately taking the chair with him. He sat beside his man, whispering his knuckles up and down his cheek, murmuring to him until he was again quiet. He took Face's hand in his own and with the other brushed a lock of hair from his forehead before petting his head.

Murdock paused for a moment in the doorway. He saw Hannibal bedside, elbows on the mattress holding the back of Face's hand to his forehead. Both of his hands mingled with Face's one making it so Murdock couldn't see Hannibal's face for the tangle of fingers.

Entering the room he stood beside the Colonel resting a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the breath hitching before he heard the faint sound of weeping. Hannibal turned his head away from Murdock, pressing the back of Face's hand to his cheek.

As he turned his head back he lightly stroked Face's forehead and cheek. Murdock's heart shattered when he saw the dampness and rolling tears on the Boss' cheek. Hannibal wiped his nose with the back of his hand and sniffed as Murdock's hand crossed the back of his shoulders to the opposite side. He pulled Hannibal in, pressing him firmly into his hip. For only a moment the Colonel relaxed into the gentle source of comfort and strength. With a sigh he again sat up straight. Murdock touched his hair before leaving them alone.

As he passed through the door he heard Hannibal speak. He looked back in at the two. The boss was gazing on his mate's face. Murdock knew whatever words were said weren't meant for his ears.

An hour later and Temp was waking. He'd been moved, but didn't know where he was. It wasn't the same house, the sounds were different. His right hand was immobilized and he couldn't move his fingers. Looking over he saw the silver mane. Some of the tension and building panic melted away, it was John. It looked as though he had pulled up a chair and was dozing with his head down. It was him holding Face's hand.

Temp reached with his other hand to John's head. Everything hurt as he moved, but he needed to touch Hannibal. Needed to feel his down soft hair. Just needed him.

Hannibal's head popped up, his eyes sleepy, but he slid into his wide grin. The one that always tells Temp everything will be okay. He's with John and he's safe.

"Where are we?"

"Safe house in Bad Rock. Mo is on the way to see you, should be here anytime now."

"No, I don't want her."

"You need to be seen."

"You can take care of me."

"We need her for stitches if nothing else."

"You've stitched me before. Please John." There was strain in his voice, a plead.

"I can't stitch you there. I don't know how. Could cause more damage."

"No. You can do it. I don't mind. Please."

"I'm sorry Babe, but you need to be seen." John wiped Temp's hair from his forehead over his head. "It's either her or I need to take you to a hospital."

He couldn't fight it any longer. He was too tired and he hurt. His head hurt, his jaw hurt, his wrist was sore. His ass was on fire. And the smell, he was permeated with the smell. It had seeped back into his nostrils. He couldn't argue being seen by the good doctor. He didn't have the strength.

They could hear movement in the hallway and that was definitely a female voice.

"Hannibal," Dr. Maggie Sullivan addressed the man as he stood from the bedside chair.

"Maggie," obvious relief evident in the single word.

She looked down to the beaten man in the bed. With a warm smile and a touch to his hand, "Face."

Hannibal stroked Face's head, "Do you want me to stay?"

"No. I'm alright."

"Okay, Kid. I'll be right outside." Closing the door Hannibal saw Maggie set out a BP cuff, stethoscope and speculum.

Hannibal leaned against the wall next to the door, head back and up. He squatted along the wall on the other side of the door. He paced the hallway. He leaned a shoulder to the opposite wall. On a new round of pacing up and down the hallway the bedroom door opened and Mo emerged.

Hannibal stood on tiptoe and waved in front of her to have a look inside.

She held his arm softly and said, "I've sedated him. He'll be asleep for awhile."

Hannibal was now looking down into her eyes, clearly asking.

"He's given me permission to discuss his condition with all of you. Everyone should hear if they're going to help with his care." She was turning him, directing him down the hallway.

In the kitchen Maggie sat with BA and Murdock at the table.

Would you like coffee, Maggie?" BA offered.

"Yes. Please. Just black."

BA squeezed the shoulder of a dazed looking Hannibal. With a quiet smile he urged the man over a little so he could reach around him for a coffee cup. Taking the item from the cabinet he said low, "He'll be alright, Boss," before moving to the other end of the counter to pour the black liquid.

"There's no way to sugar coat it. He's badly injured. But I think you already knew that."

BA returned to the chair next to Murdock and across from Mo.

"As I understand it, he was abandoned several days ago."

Hannibal interrupted, "Is that the word he used? 'Abandoned'?"

"Um...yes, I think he did say that." She took a sip of her coffee as Murdock dropped his eyes and covered his mouth with one hand.

Mo continued, "Most of his injuries have been compounded by neglect, mostly infection. Starting at the top, he has a gash and large hematoma on the back of his head. I needed to curl it out slightly before stitching. The way the tissue is swollen now he could have battled ingrown hairs from it for the rest of his life. He may or may not have a raised scar as it is now, but he'll be comfortable and his hair will cover it. I cleaned it, but I suspect he may have an issue with infection there. Keep a close watch on it for stagnation, not healing, or for additional inflammation.

"The swelling around his eye is alarming, though I hope it will begin to dissipate as soon as tonight. If there's no change in it by tomorrow, I need to know. I'm almost positive there is a fracture to the orbital, but it's singular. There shouldn't be any movement there unless it is manipulated. For now I want the other swelling to go down some. Then we'll put a band aid on it. Not that the band aid itself will help it but it will serve as a reminder to be especially careful in the area.

"His cheekbone has a major contusion, but I don't feel any fracturing there. Both his eye and cheekbone should heal with little trouble. He doesn't have problems with vision." She took a sip of her coffee. "He has cuts, scrapes and contusions all over him. Most will heal on their own. There was a slice along his neck. Said it was from a knife. I needed to shave it open to give it a good seal. I butterflied it to help reduce the scarring. The cuts that were on the more severe side I've covered with bandages."

She paused for another sip and watched as Murdock began tearing pieces off a paper napkin. BA had his hands on the table entwined together. He was running the pads of his thumbs together like a pair of sheep ramming horns. Hannibal was backed up to the counter, his long legs extended in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His arms were crossed and he appeared to be staring at his toe.

"I think he has a broken rib. It doesn't seem to be separated but it needs to be wrapped. After giving him pain meds I didn't want to have to disturb him to stand to wrap him. You can do it later."

"Sure," Hannibal confirmed to his shoe, "We'll do it later."

"He has an injury to his left wrist. It doesn't look to be from being tied. Looks like a blow, but it was probably aggravated. I've wrapped it. Check it tomorrow, if he has considerable difficulty moving it, let me know." She stretched a leg out and noted she had hit the bottom of her cup. BA lifted his head and pointed at her mug. She nodded. He had it filled and back in front of her in no time.

Going on, "He has perianal dermatitis on his lower abdomen, penis, scrotum, perineum and cleft. I've left a salve up there for it. To cleanse the area he needs to lather and rinse, no scrubbing, no washcloths or sponges. He'll just irritate it more.

"He's been given pain killers, and like I said, sedatives. He's extremely dehydrated. I have him on forced liquids for a day. Do him a favor and look around for a urinal. If you can't find one a flower vase will do. He'll thank you for not having to get into the bathroom as many times as he will need to tonight. He'll also be on three days of IV antibiotics. We'll switch to tablets after that." She looked to Hannibal, "You can change out the bags?"

Murdock answered, "Yeah, we can handle that."

She took a deep breath and let it out to prepare for the next part. "The sexual assault was severe." She paused to let that sink in. "He has TDJ in the TMJ. That should resolve itself over the next few weeks. He swears he had teeth knocked out, but they're all in there. He even still has his wisdom teeth. I suspect it's ghosting. He does have damage to the inside of his mouth. He may have expected to lose teeth, and somehow ended up with a memory of losing them.

"That TMJ his jaw?" Bosco asked.

"Yes. It's the hinge joint," she replied.

Continuing on, "He was sodomized and it was brutal. He has tearing both inside and out and he was prolapsed. I've sewn the prolapse back in place and left suppository pain relief. The good news there is I don't see or feel a rupture. I've left a rather fast acting laxative. When he wakes up have him take it, but someone needs to stay with him to help him to the bathroom. That would be a good time to wrap his ribs. He needs to be on a liquid diet for no less than three days. After that, soft foods for another two or three.

"He doesn't know if protection was used. I've taken samples to test and also rape collections if you need them. We'll test for STDs now, in another six weeks, three months and six months. I've started him on HAART. He tells me he's in a relationship. I know he's a regular Lothario..."

Hannibal cut in. "He's in an exclusive relationship."

"Do you know this woman?"

She sensed a nervousness run between the two men at the table. Hannibal was outwardly steady.

"He's not seeing a woman," Hannibal informed her.

"Oh. I didn't know that about him. Well be that as it may, they should be informed. Even if he's exclusive, the other person may not be."

"He is."

"Well you can't be sure and this isn't something to brush off. Do you have contact information. If it would be easier for everyone I can contact him. Do you know his name?"

"You're looking at him."

She was getting annoyed. "What does that mean?"

"Temp and I have been in a relationship for years."

Hannibal had done the near impossible. He had rattled Maggie "Mo" Sullivan. She looked to BA. He nodded once an affirmative.

Murdock was no help he had moved on "When Hannibal got hurt that doc wrote out instructions. What to do for him. Will you do that for us Maggie?"

"Yes, of course," she answered Murdock but was looking at Hannibal.

"Does this mean when we first met..."

"I'm sorry Maggie, we do what we need to. It's usually Face and the ladies, but...."

Hannibal watched Murdock as he tore his napkin apart building a pattern from the pieces on the table. He was going to need extra attention too. He had been strong so far, but it was going to wear on him. Hannibal thought he'd ask BA to help there.

"Did you hear me, Hannibal?" Maggie was asking.

"Huh? I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said he's going to need therapy."

"What? Physical therapy?"

"No. Counseling."

"I'll see what I can do," he said a bit offhandedly.

"It can't be put off. He's a rape victim. He's been traumatized," she persisted. "I'll talk to him."

"No Maggie. Please. Leave it alone. If he's pressured he'll shut down and he'll never get the help he needs. Murdock and I will approach him about it."

"In the meantime he may experience some very severe ups and downs. I'm not thoroughly read on the subject, but my understanding is he will react similarly to someone in mourning - depression, anger, etc. - but acceptance may elude him without help. He may seem fine one minute, then unable to cope the next." She was pressuring. One of her specialties. "Don't let it go too long."

Mo was experiencing some stages herself after the revelation she just heard about the man she had an affair with. She needed to get out of this house and have some alone time to process her feelings about Hannibal. She was angry with him, with all of them really. But she was also a doctor and wouldn't turn her back on Face.

Maggie had written out instructions as promised and Murdock had overrun her with questions. Hannibal took the written pages from him slipping an arm over his shoulder. "You and I will sit down and look these over. If we have anymore questions we'll give Maggie a call, okay?"

The pilot had reluctantly agreed and Hannibal now stood on the front porch with the doctor. "I hope your knowing about Temp and I hasn't ruined our friendship."

"I'll admit it. I certainly wasn't expecting that. But no, Hannibal, it hasn't ruined our friendship. It may have changed it some, don't think that can be helped, but it hasn't ruined it." Hannibal accompanied her to her car. "By the way, when you called, Hank Thompson was visiting," she told him, referring to the town's sheriff. "Told him you were coming."

"Thanks for letting me know. I'll stop in on him while we're here." Hannibal had no fear of the sheriff. They had had an uneasy truce when the team partnered with him and his deputy to protect the town from marauders. However, since then Hank and Hannibal enjoyed an easy friendship. Along with the friendship and gratitude came a safe haven for the team. One they didn't take advantage of, but were thankful for in emergencies.

After seeing Maggie off, Hannibal tracked down the pilot. "You'll help me with him, won't you Captain? He's going to need you."

"You _know_ I'd do anything for him."


	9. Chapter 9

When Face woke in the morning John was there to help him to the bathroom. Temp was slightly lightheaded and decidedly weak, thankful John was holding him close with an arm firmly around his waist. He seemed more coherent than he had the day before which Hannibal was thankful for.

"Should make you sit like you made me at Gloria Stewart's place."

As soon as he said it he regretted it. _Now's not the time to be joking with him_ he thought. But had to stop and look at his dear man when he replied, "I'm a sniper. I have better aim than you."

Hannibal was just looking at him.

"What?" Face asked.

"How I love you."

"I love you too, but can we get a little closer to the toilet?"

Back in bed, Temp became quiet as Hannibal ministered to him, checking IVs, changing bandages, dosing and administering medicines.

"BA and Murdock went down to L.A. to pack up our things to bring here."

"What about the job?" Temp asked.

"The hell with the job."

"Because of me?"

"We're all worried about you, Kid. The job isn't worth it."

"No, we're so close. It's two hundred fifty thousand, John. We can't throw money like that away." He tried to sit up, but winced and eased back down.

"Whoa, whoa." He set a hand on the prone man's chest. "Tell ya what. We'll all discuss it when the guys get back. Okay?" Hannibal hadn't yet told him about Ira and Jaimie, _Or whomever or whatever the hell they were._

"Okay."

Temp lay quietly for a few moments while John replaced caps. He watched John's hands, _Always graceful and elegant_ , he thought. He pictured those hands opening a foil wrapper and rolling on a condom. "If we have sex we need to use protection." He paused a few seconds then added, "Like we're strangers."

"We'll talk about that another time."

"There's nothing to talk about. It is what it is."

John had considered this since Mo mentioned it. If Temp had been infected with chlamydia, syphilis, gonorrhea or the like they could be treated. If he acquired herpes, did they really want to spend the rest of their lives with condoms? If he was exposed to HIV and it progressed to a fatal state, could Hannibal live without him? He had speculated about it, but couldn't wrap his head around it. He was yet able to take the emotion out of it.

"Don't worry about that now, Temp."

"Your life really took a wrong turn, didn't it John?"

"What do you mean?"

"You should have a wife and family."

"Where is this coming from, Babe?"

Temp turned his head away.

Hannibal didn't push him. Instead he asked, "May I lay down with you?"

"You don't want to do that. I stink."

"What the salves? I don't even notice."

"No. I smell like vomit and shit."

"I don't smell any of that."

"I want to take a shower and scrub this stench off of me."

"No, Babe. There will be no scrubbing today," shooting down the idea of a shower.

Face's jaw quivered, but he quickly covered his face with his hand wiping away the look of distress, but Hannibal had seen it. 

 _You're such an idiot sometimes_ he thought to himself. He had done exactly what Face didn't need. Taking his free choice away, removing any semblance of control.

Hannibal quickly rebooted. "There will be no scrubbing, do you understand? We will wash you carefully and Murdock will help us. I don't want to risk you falling. Got it?"

"Okay."

 

It was several hours later Face was asking Murdock, "You don't smell that?"

"Really Facey, I don't. You smell as fresh and sweet as you always do."

It was late afternoon and Murdock was on the bed leaning on the headboard. He and Hannibal had helped Face with a shower. They dressed him in fresh boxers and sleepwear from the the excursion to L.A. to retrieve their belongings.

"You know when I get really stressed out I hear things. When things are really bad I see things. Maybe for you it's smell."

"You think I'm making it up?"

"No, not making it up at all. But I do think you're smelling something that's not there. Maybe you should consider talking to someone."

"Like a therapist?"

"Yeah, someone who can help you sort this all out."

"I'll think about it."

"Good." Then added, "You look so tired," He scooted his back down the headboard just a little, "Come lay here." He extended his arm out in an invitation. "I'll stay with you til you fall asleep."

"That a new cologne?"

"Yeah, ya like it? I bought it at the five and dime in town. Any cheaper and you could drink it. Makes me feel like a stud muffin."

Face genuinely laughed then said, "I think it's nice. Much rather smell you than me."

Face's head was in his lap. Murdock thought of so many times it had been reversed, when the wobbles were near and Face had held him til it was all clear. He would sit here as long as Face needed him. Besides returning the support it gave Murdock something to focus on and put his energies into. When Face needed him, he could always pull it together.

"Sleep Buddy."

 

"Are you going to tell me what you're up to?"

"Facey just needed a sleep aid," Murdock tossed over his shoulder to Hannibal on the way to the kitchen.

"Maggie gave me sedatives for him. Think he needs one?"

"Naw, he's sound asleep now," the pilot called from the kitchen.

BA turned his attention away from the baseball game he and Hannibal were watching. "What did that fool do now?"

"Asked me to blow cigar smoke through one of his gun cleaning rags."

BA looked at him confused.

"Wanted to know where I keep my aftershave too."

"Never can tell with that one." BA was shaking his head. "Sometimes it's better not knowing."

A stricken look came to the colonel's face.

"Don't worry, Boss. You know Murdock would never hurt him."

 

Face woke to the scent of John nearby. He reached a hand out to the other side of the bed, but found it empty. Hannibal had probably just been there to check on him. It was a relief to have John's aroma cover the stench of his own body. He drifted off again.

When he woke again John was there. Nothing gave him more comfort than the knowledge he was nearby. He rolled and that solid body was right there. In his sleep Hannibal instinctively opened his arms and Temp nestled in.

This was where he needed to be. Held by the man who chased off any fears of the night, who made him feel safe. Being held there told him he wouldn't be tied to that bed again even if his dreams said otherwise. It made the darkness retreat. The darkness was the worst of his time after his captors had left him. The darkness told him he would die alone.

 

"How ya feeling this morning, Kid?"

"Alright I guess."

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up." John extended his hand for Face to take. "Want to take a shower?"

"Sounds good." Then he remembered. "I almost forgot. Wanted to show you this." He dug around under his pillow and pulled out one of the gun cleaning rags. He held it out. "Smell it." He was smiling from ear to ear. "It smells just like you."

John took it and after a sniff handed it back. He was smiling now too. "Murdock."

"I love him."

"I know you do."

John watched as he tucked the rag back under his pillow then offered a hand to help him stand.

"Think you can manage on your own?" They were heading for the bathroom. Though John had a hand firmly holding him at his waist and held Temp's hand with the other, the younger man wasn't using him for the support he needed the previous three days.

"I think I'll be fine."

"Good." John kissed his temple. "I'll stay close just in case you need me, okay?"

"Okay."

Temp was able to shower on his own and only needed a minimum amount of help stepping back over the edge of the tub and assistance drying off.

"Will you shave me?"

"Uh ... sure. But I've never shaved anyone else before."

"It'll be fine. My hands are real shaky, but I'd like to get shaved and not worry about it for a few days."

Through the open door of the room Murdock carried a tray of coffee, jello, and beef stock, with an added bonus of mashed potatoes and butter. Temp was sitting up in bed, his face a mass of torn bits of tissue adhered with spots of blood. Murdock turned his head to their Colonel and chastised, "You know his hands aren't steady. Why would you let him shave himself?"

"I didn't," Hannibal protested on the defensive. Murdock again looked at Face then back to Hannibal. Hannibal looked away sheepishly.


	10. Chapter 10

In the following days Face's strength was returning. It increased as he was able to wean off the all liquid diet. The three others were surprised by how quickly he seemed to be recovering. Though BA and Murdock were optimistic and pleased, Hannibal remained guarded. 

To him, Face seemed to be doing too well yet erratic at the same time. He accepted all the fussing John and Murdock were showering on him with little complaint, so unlike his usual self reliance. He could be pensive and quiet. And though usually always accepting of hugs and affection he seemed to be up and down. Sometimes melting into an embrace, other times flinching from a touch.

Mo returned in a week to check in on her patient and remove stitches. Taking Hannibal aside she told him she was happy with his physical progress, but in her opinion he was suffering from depression. She prescribed anti-anxiety medication and did her best to impress upon Hannibal how crucial it was for him to seek professional help. She would provide local names and suggested Murdock's Dr. Richter be asked for referrals in the L.A. area. "Quit wasting time, Hannibal," she scolded.

Hannibal didn't want to hear it, the reproach. He was however somehow grateful to feel vindicated. It wasn't just him. An outside observer had seen there was something wrong with Face. Murdock had told him he broached the subject of therapy with him and it hadn't gone badly, but there it sat. Another attempt by the pilot had ended in a nonverbal warning to drop the matter. Hannibal was looking for the right moment himself. Looking for just the right time, hoping it didn't blowup on him.

 

"I want to go to L.A.," Face announced.

BA and Murdock let Hannibal take the lead on this one.

"What for?" asked Hannibal.

"I want to know what Ira and Jaimie knew about this."

"About you? I don't think they...."

Face cut him off, "About any of it."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"I don't give a flying fuck what you think. I want to know."

"Easy there, Faceman," BA was concerned. Face and the boss almost never argued and when they did, they kept it private.

Face turned on him, "Keep out of it BA!"

"Look Temp, we know you're angry. We know....." But Hannibal was cut off.

"You don't know shit! You've got a lot of nerve standing there saying 'you know'!"

"Facey?" Murdock said softly

Face ignored him. "You know," he half mumbled lightly shaking his head in disgust. "You don't know! You don't know what it was like to have those hands all over you. You don't know what it was like to have things shoved in you. In your mouth. In your ass. Dry." He looked at each of them. They all looked wounded, maybe a little horrified, definitely uncomfortable. _Good_ he thought. _Tried of being alone in this_.

"Temp, I don't know if Ira and Jaimie have the answers you're looking for," Hannibal tried to reason.

"Well here's a question you can answer. Where were _you_?! Why did it take so long to come for me?!"

"Come on Faceman," BA was reaching an imploring hand out, "Hannibal did all he could. We all did."

"Fuck you man! Could have found me by the smell alone! It's still stuck to me! None of you will ever know! You'll never know how much it hurt!" Then quieter, "It hurt so much...... It still hurts." He looked straight at John. "Why did you leave me there?"

BA and Murdock immediately turned to see Hannibal's stricken face. Too stunned to speak themselves.

"You don't know what it's like being trapped in a nightmare, giving up hope anyone will come for you."

Murdock stepped up to him and said gently, "I do, Buddy."

Now it was Face looking horrified. "Oh god, I'm sorry," he said before he bolted from the room, skirting around BA's outreached hand. They heard the back door open and shut.

"Oh Hannibal," Murdock's heart broke for him.

BA looked from Murdock to the colonel, "You know he didn't mean that, Bossman."

Hannibal was intent on the floor. He had found a spot he could focus on and sighed. "He was thinking it though; otherwise, it never would have come out of his mouth."

The pilot's hands were clasped together at his chest. "I didn't mean to upset him. I just wanted him to know I understood."

"I know, Murdock, and so does he," Hannibal assured.

Murdock let out a sigh of his own. "What 'a we do?"

For all of Hannibal's leadership, courage and determination, he looked utterly lost, "I don't know how to help him." He scrubbed his face then ran his hand through his hair.

"Would you like one of us to talk to him?" BA offered.

"No .... no. I need to." With that and another sigh he headed out of the room and to the back door.

Stepping into the screened porch he could see Temp standing at the far edge of the lawn. He appeared to be looking out to the scrub grass and foothills beyond. His hands were wrapped around his ribs. A gesture that made Hannibal feel his chest was collapsing and his heart shattering for the sadness of it. It was Face's way of comforting himself. John had more than once pictured the young boy Face had been holding himself as one by one the adults in his life failed him. As Hannibal approached he spun around.

John was prepared for him to launch, hoping he wouldn't need to overpower him. Temp did launch, but instead of an assault he captured John's sweatshirt in his fists. He tugged hard, pulling him in, then encircled him. He was desperately clinging to John who held him tight in return.

Temp pressed his forehead into his neck, "I'm so sorry."

John tried to quiet the tremors by force of will. When that failed he rocked, "I'm sorry we didn't come sooner."

"Don't be. I had no business saying that." He was crying. Crying and clinging as if had he let loose, John would get away from him, would leave him here.

"Oh Babe. I so much want to fix this for you. I want to take away the pain." He pressed his cheek into Temp's hair. "And I want the bastard who did this to you to pay." He still rocked. "But more than anything, I want to give you peace." He held him until his sobs ebbed and his shuddering breaths eased, held him until he was still.

"Come." He turned then pulled him in tight under the shelter of one arm. He crossed his other arm over, turning further to hold Temp's head close to his own as they walked. He guided them to the bench along the side of the yard and sat them there.

John pressed one more kiss into his hair before loosening his hold. Temp let go. Leaning slightly forward he clenched his fingers around the front of the seat on either side of his legs, only letting go for the random wipe at his eyes or cheeks. He turned his head away from John, looking again to the hills beyond, leaning to one side. John sat beside. He too was leaning forward, his forearms on his thighs, fingers steepled together.

After a few moments Face began, a whispered confession. Though alone, he spoke only loud enough for the two of them to hear, "I never wanted to be with another man. I've only ever wanted you."

For Hannibal it was heartbreaking. Those two simply stated sentences held the weight of the world on his beautiful boy. He took longer than he wanted to respond, he needed to tamp down the emotion that threatened to overthrow him. He inhaled, but could feel the shuddering in his breath.

"Temp, you weren't 'with' another man. You have to know that. What was done to you has nothing to do with you and me and what we share. What was done to you wasn't even sex. It was violence." He didn't look over but he knew the tears had begun again. He just let him be. He hoped the tears would help him. Hoped they would help cleanse him.

"You should have a family. A wife and children. You should be with Ann and Sarah, not stuck with me."

There it was again. This was the second time Face had said this in the past week. He initially claimed he didn't know where it was coming from, but that wasn't true. No, he did know. Hannibal knew Temp was angry, and saw it in himself. Face also knew he was taking it out on the people who loved him. Beside that, he was saying he wasn't good enough for John. Something John could never wrap his head around.

For all he'd been through Hannibal didn't want him to have any doubts about them, the two of them. About the strength of their bond. Didn't want that, ever. But it was so ingrained in the man. It was so much a part of him, his fear he would be dropped without a second thought. Temp needed more than reassurances, he needed to hear truth. Have it laid out for him.

Hannibal knew to choose words wisely, didn't want this to sound like appeasement. He knew full well he sometimes said exactly the wrong thing. He needed to address the immediate. He knew it wasn't the actual issue, but he couldn't go into Temp's overall distrust of the world, more pointedly the people in it. He didn't want to see the door to Temp's worries slammed shut. No, he would talk to him about his ex-wife and child. He hoped simple truth would help him.

"You're right, Temp. I should be with Sarah." Pausing a beat for just the right words. "There is nowhere in this world where it is okay for a little girl to suffer like she did, for her father to watch it happen and not be able to save her." He shook his head lightly, "No one should have to bury a six-year-old. It isn't right and it isn't fair.

"But Ann? Our marriage was over long before I met you." When he looked up he saw Temp watching him, intent. "When we lost Sarah I was damned lucky to be in the Army. Don't know what I would have done otherwise. I was able to function on autopilot. Just go through the motions. We lived under so many regulations in the service." He motioned between them, "You and I didn't, but at the time Sarah died I did. It was a heavensend. I didn't have to think about what I was doing. I just 'did'. And you know who was my greatest source of strength? Who was really there for me without question?" Temp shook his head no. "Russ Morrison."

He huffed a little at the memory, then resumed. "It wasn't that I didn't think. I thought of Sarah all the time. And I talked about her constantly. For close to two years I could turn just about any conversation around to my Sarah. I had it in the back of my head if I stopped talking about her she would be forgotten to the world. As though she never existed and I couldn't have that.

"I used to think of what she would look like as she grew. What would she be doing? One day she would be introspective, an avid reader. The next she would be ready for her riding lesson asking when she could have her own pony. I imagined all sorts of things for her. Imagined all of the things I wanted for her.

"But for all my incessant talking about her, Ann never mentioned her. We were polar opposites. While I wanted to remember Sarah, Ann wanted to forget her, or so I thought up until the very end, when it was too late. And I resented her for it.

"The fact was my compulsive babbling on about her didn't give Ann a chance to heal. I talked about her enough for the two of us. She was living with a ghost. And I was shoving the ghost down her throat. The more I carried on, the more she shut down and the farther apart we drifted. You get to a point where there's no turning back.

"We could have tried to save our marriage, but honestly, it wasn't really a love affair to begin with. Not like what you and I have. Sure, we loved each other, but I still don't know if we were ever 'in love', doubt it. And it seemed as good a time as any to call it quits," he said expelling a sigh. "We had the perfect excuse. Our marriage couldn't survive the loss of a child.

"We were never completely open with each other. We hid behind walls. I know if we had tried, maybe gone to counseling, and we tore down those walls, we both would have ended up looking at someone we weren't all that fond of."

John hadn't thought about him and Ann as a couple in years. And he realized he had never talked to Temp about it. "You know, I never truly considered the differences in the two relationships, my marriage and you 'n me. Why this one works and that one didn't. I've given it a little thought, sure, but brushed it off as I might be bi, but you prove I'm obviously more attracted to men." He huffed a little laugh.

"That's not it though." Temp had shifted his focus to his knees, but was listening to every word. "If I had stayed with Ann I wouldn't have ever felt whole. I wouldn't have ever actually experienced true love. The kind that grows and settles. The kind where you are so .... so comfortable and sure. The kind that relaxes around you." He was leaning forward once more, looking at his hands. Almost to himself, "You showed me what that is." He had become somewhat lost in his own head and was again aware of Temp sitting next to him.

"Anyhow... No, our life together certainly doesn't fall under any of the standard categories, does it? But I don't care. Whatever we need to do to stay together is what I want. Should I be with my wife and daughter? Yes and no. It wasn't fair to lose Sarah, I should still have her. Ann and I, no." He looked up across the yard. There was a rabbit running through the brush. "I'm not stuck with you. I'm with who I should be. You complete me, Babe. There is no one else I should be with. Being with you is the life I want. Being with you has fulfilled my desire for a real and complete love. I love you more than you could possibly know." For half a second he thought of life without his Templeton. It jarred him. His stomach dropped. "I couldn't survive without you."

Temp was watching the rabbit. He shifted on the bench. Hannibal knew he was still in pain and wished they had something other than this wooden seat. At length Face said, "I wish we had the pictures of Sarah from the house at Benning."

John was used to this kind of sudden divergence in conversation. Oftentimes Temp could become overwhelmed and unsure of his responses. John followed him. He knew they would circle back. "I'd like to have _all_ of those photos. There were great ones of the four of us," he said smiling. "I'd give anything to have the one Murdock took of the two of us."

"Which one? There were a few."

"You and me sitting on the steps of that beach house. You on the step below me, between my knees. I was looking at the camera, like I was suppose to." He smirked and bumped their shoulders. "But not you. No, you had your head turned off to the side. Typical. You doing things your own way." He paused and smiled at the thought of it. "You were so beautiful in it. It was the only picture we had that I thought really captured how beautiful you are. Captured you. All of you."

"I love you too, Beau."

It took Hannibal by surprise how quickly the tears sprung to his own eyes. "I know."

"They probably sold or threw out all of our things, huh John?"

John took in a deep breath and wiped at his eyes with the heel of a hand, "Yeah, I guess so. Funny. I never thought about it." He sniffed and Temp took his hand. "Wish we had your 'Vette." He pictured himself sitting in the passenger seat, looking over at Temp's profile as he drove them through that part of their life together. _Temp seldom drives now_.

"You lost the most. You lost the house."

"Maybe one day we'll be able to get restitution," he joked.

"Not holding my breath."

"It's all just stuff." He squeezed his hand.

"Everyone's treating me like glass."

"You are glass, Babe."

They sat wordlessly for a few minutes.

"We need to find a counsellor for you. We need to find you help."

Temp opened his mouth as though he would answer. Looking in John's eyes he shook his head. He wasn't telling him no they didn't, he was telling him he didn't want it to be so. He didn't want to feel this helpless. He didn't want his anger to physically hurt. He didn't want to be so fucking out of control.

John thought _He looks so raw, so exposed_. When Face's tears breached again Hannibal took him by the back of his neck pulling him in, saying into his ear, "We'll find someone to help you through this."

"Okay," he whispered down John's chest.


	11. Chapter 11

Jaimie was whimpering. Tied to a chair beside her "husband" she was pulling on all the sympathy strings she could muster. BA faltered. Crying women could stop him in his tracks faster than a bullet. After tying the pair and Jonas to office chairs BA was set to work on intimidating them. Jaimie landed her own form of defense and the big guy didn't really know what hit him.

Hannibal had no problem dealing with her. One look at Face and he was all over her. Keeping a picture of Temp beaten foremost in his mind he didn't give a shit how much the bitch cried and snuffled. "You will tell us what we want to know," he growled. "You can stop your boo-hooing. Crocodile tears have no effect on me."

She tried for a few more sniffles, but knew her act had come to an end with this one.

Hannibal began, "Are you CIA?"

  
With bloodied knuckles Hannibal looked on at the bloodied noses of the two men. Jaimie's cheeks were flushed bright red from slaps across her face. She had tried to use what she thought was an intimate dinner with Face to her advantage. She was a beautiful woman and knew the handsome former lieutenant had wanted to bed her that night. She turned her tear streaked face towards him and pleaded for mercy with large brown eyes.

Face only looked back flatly at her. He knew exactly what she was thinking. "You got it wrong. You're not my type."

"I've held back, Miss whoever the hell you are. But now? I've had it with you." Hannibal drew his fist back preparing to strike.

"No!" It was Jonas. "I'll tell you what you want. Don't hit her."

"You idiot, Larry," she spat. "Don't say a word."

"Go ahead and listen to her, Larry, and watch me have at her. I'm telling you now, there are only four people in this world I would never raise a hand to and she's not one of them."

These three, who turned out to be Larry, Sheila and Bill, were indeed CIA. Though normally interested in foreign country activities outside the U.S., this particular case crossed over. It was an American working with an African warlord to sell diamonds as a means to profit and assist in funding Al Qaeda. Even with the rise of ISIL and the attention paid to it, the US was still actively at war with the group formerly led by bin Laden.

The three swore up and down they didn't have any idea Black's true identity. The Agency had tried not only their own operatives, but also bounty hunters to identify and bring in the mysterious diamond smuggler. Someone had the brilliant idea to bring in the A-Team.

The Team had been set up to locate Mr. Black. It had all been bullshit. It was all designed to draw them in to do the job the Agency itself and bounty hunters had failed. There was a difference with the Team. They hadn't been hired like gentlemen, they had been used like whores.

Jonas or rather Larry explained, knowing the Team's success rate, the Agency felt the men were their best bet. Jonas also assumed there would be an added bonus of possibly bringing in the A-Team themselves. The Agency easily planted the three agents. They did run into a snag when Face had made the deal to hand pick specific stones. Since "Ira" wasn't actually a lapidary, Face's jewelry case was whisked off site to a real jeweler for the stones to be sorted. It explained why the case took road trips to a certain Best Western in Santa Monica. It was where the true lapidary met with them to make the picks.

Hannibal was uneasy about the story. He knew in his gut this was a mixture of truth and fabrication. Ira, Jaimie and Jonas' stories were so well crafted and included enough detail, backup and documentation there wasn't even a remote possibility for the Team to get a whiff of the truth. It brought something else to his mind. Something he wouldn't be able to put an answer to. If the CIA had the capacity to so thoroughly invent a client for the Team in order to use them for their own means, what had stopped them from doing that exact thing to capture them?

Hannibal also wasn't buying they didn't know Black's identity, but between the information they gathered from Peter and from the three agents they would soon track down Black and find out for themselves.

 

"That's it." Face identified the black Beemer. It was the same one Mr. Black drove, though Face didn't know it belonged to their target at the time he was seeing it parked outside the Thai restaurant. Peter had given them three dates, times and locations where he was scheduled to be included in meetings. He told them Black may or may not attend. They would know if he was present by his black BMW. The car hadn't been at the first two.

They were outside the third address given by Peter on the day and time he specified Black would arrive. Before the driver of the car had stepped out, Murdock and BA were on him. They had dropped a hood over his head and quickly overpowered him to manhandle him into the SUV.

Hannibal was driving with Face riding shotgun. The other two had the man bound in the back and down on the floor. Heading West they made their way toward the docks and the empty warehouse. It was pretty clear they hadn't been tracked by the Agency. Had they been, with the mission accomplished, their captive would have been removed from their hands immediately.

With the man seated and bound inside the empty expanse it was eerily reminiscent of when they had Morrison in the same position. Face stumbled backward when the hood was removed and he again heard the voice of his tormentor. "Hail, hail. The gang's all here. If it isn't the entire A-Team."

John looked to Temp. He didn't need to ask, he could see it there on his face. This was his attacker.

"....Pike."

"Good to see you again Hannibal. How's things?" his mouth spread in a wide smile.

"You've made a serious mistake, Pike. Getting away with hurting one of my boys is never an option."

"You're not going to do shit to me. The Agency wants me. Don't think for a minute I haven't figured out they sent you to get me. I know how you work. You and your team never fail and you'll collect a king's ransom for your efforts. How much did they offer you for me? Hmmm? Two million? No. That was the last guy. Maybe they offered you three. Or maybe they offered you your freedom."

"Shut up man," BA growled

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sounds like none of the above," Pike taunted. His arrogance knew his value. It was his shield.

"Take Temp out of here, Murdock," ordered Hannibal

"Come on, Facey." Murdock set a hand on the younger man's shoulder. Face seemed frozen.

Pike focused in on Face, "How ya doin', handsome?" Same as on the docks, this time adding a wink.

Then to BA, "You two pieces of shit left me for dead."

Moving his focus to Hannibal, "I had your boy Smith. Did you know that?" Pike grinned bold as brass. "He's one sweet piece of ass. Especially when just trembling doesn't cut it anymore and he starts crying and screaming and squirming around."

Face was staring at him, looking lost.

"Get him out of here, NOW!"

Murdock didn't speak again. He took Face by the shoulders and spun him in the opposite direction fully expecting him to resist, but he didn't. That look remained on his face as Murdock held him tight and walked him out the pedestrian door.

"Yup! Tie him down and he's one beautiful fuck!" Pike yelled after the two men. Turning his attention back to Hannibal, "Between you and me, something tells me I didn't pick his ass cherry. You probably don't like hearing that, do you Hannibal? Don't like hearin' your boy takes it up the ass."

BA advanced.

"Stand down BA." BA looked at the boss. Hannibal didn't raise his eyes to him, "Go check on them and get them ready to go. We're leaving."

"Boss?"

"I gave you an order. Now go."

"That's it Baracus. Go check on that pretty boy of your little group." He smiled wide knowing damn well there was nothing they could do about it. Reminding himself again he was one very valuable asset. Turning back to Hannibal. "I've wanted a piece of Peck for years. Besides, you took what was mine at the docks, took those plates. Never dreamed I'd be able to return the favor. Take a little something from you." He was laughing.

"You took nothing from me." Hannibal was in close, growling. "The only one who can take from me is Face himself."

"Wait. You mean you two? Oh that's priceless." He laughed loud and hard, "You really _do_ know what a nice piece of ass he is. And to think he gave me a taste so easy."

"Shut up, Pike."

"Still got that gag I left with your boy?" more peals of laughter. "Don't have it on ya, do you?"

"I said shut up," the timbre of his voice dropped and flattened.

"How ya gonna make that happen Hannibal? Without a gag, what are ya gonna do? Shoot me?"

  
Both BA and Murdock spun in the direction of the warehouse when they heard the report. The dim light from within snapped off just before Hannibal emerged from the pedestrian door. They threw glances at each other.

BA had been heading around the back of the vehicle to the driver's door. Murdock had just finished settling Face in the back seat. Face sat motionless with his eyes fixed to the floor.

"Murdock, you take shotgun."

"Yes Colonel," he quickly replied ducking into the front passenger door.

Hannibal checked to be sure Face's seatbelt was on before closing his door. Circling around to the other back door he crowded BA forward.

"Boss?"

"Get in BA."

Before buckling himself in he leaned to an unresponsive Temp, petted his face and brushed his fingers through those curls. He cradled the side of his head, pulling him in to kiss his temple. It broke through the haze, Temp closed his eyes and tilted his head into the kiss. He nodded as Hannibal murmured low in his ear, not loud enough for the others to hear. Murmurs only understood by the two of them. Secrets.

Sitting back he fastened his seatbelt before taking Temp's hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. Temp returned the gesture as BA put the SUV in gear and eased off the brake.

 

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

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